


Let Thy Sword Bring Us Home

by s1k1s1k1



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Community: norsekink, Depression, Forced Headshaving, Haircuts, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Infanticide, M/M, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Original Character(s), Rape, Sibling Incest, Sibling Incest (No Blood Relation), Situational Humiliation, Slash, Slavery, Suicidal Thoughts, Unreliable Narrator, Whipping, Work In Progress, abortion (discussion), non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-15
Updated: 2012-09-11
Packaged: 2017-11-07 20:13:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s1k1s1k1/pseuds/s1k1s1k1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Directly post-<i>Avengers</i>. Thor knows that Loki has commited great crimes, but he doesn't want the man he's called "brother" his whole life to be cast out or put to death. Fortunately, there's a solution: if he strips Loki of his magic and declares him to be his personal slave, lowest of the low, the Aesir will be satisfied. Especially when it's well-known what "personal slave" is a eupemism for. If that solution just happens to coincide with Thor's own desire to have Loki by his side, then Thor can only hope that his feelings are returned. Unfortunately, Loki only sees it as yet another awful layer in the role he's forced to play.</p><p>Thor wants to save Loki's life. Loki wants to live. In the meantime, the chains that are binding Loki's magic are killing him. Literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beginning Notes:
> 
> Based on [this prompt](http://norsekink.livejournal.com/8802.html?thread=18826082#t18826082) at [Norsekink](http://norsekink.livejournal.com/). Be warned: The full prompt contains major spoilers for the story, as does the comment discussion.
> 
> Thank you to the OP of the prompt on norsekink for the original idea that inspired this story, and for the discussions that have refined its shape.
> 
> Also many thanks to [51stcenturyfox](http://51stcenturyfox.livejournal.com) for the beta. My crappy spellcheck and the word "though" salute you!
> 
> Because this story carries warnings for both non-con and violence, I feel I should make it clear that the two warnings are completely unrelated. The violence warning refers to non-sexual bodily injury and to murder, and the non-con warning applies to non-violent sex.
> 
> I have provided further elaboration on the pairing tags, as well as the non-con, violence, infanticde, and abortion tags in the end notes. There are some story spoilers.

"But law being put to silence by the wars,  
We, from her houses driven, most willingly  
Suffer'd exile: let thy sword bring us home."

\--Lucan's First Book (278-80). Translated by Christopher Marlowe.

\----------

The manacles dragged at his wrists, the chains hanging heavy from his arms. Loki could feel his magic and his strength draining down into the cold iron every second, drip by drip, a never-ceasing ache. The mere act of bearing the weight of the links was exhausting, but he was damned if he would show as much to the mortals who stood around him and his brother. Doubly damned if he would show even a hint to Thor himself.

He watched, gagged into silence, as Thor spoke to his so-called friends, exchanging words and promises and oaths of fealty and friendship. His teeth scraped against the metal bit in his mouth as he gnawed in his frustration, worrying at the thick plate locked down over his tongue. The mortals had fed him through his veins while he was their prisoner, so he wasn't bothered yet by hunger or thirst, but his inability to speak to them, to plead his case, to _explain,_ boiled in his blood.

Finally, it was done. Thor stepped up to him, the Tesseract in its case held out for him to take hold. Of course. It wouldn't do but for him to have to participate in his own fate. With a surge of defiance, Loki snatched at the proffered handle, and let himself be taken home. Taken to Asgard.

It was nightfall when they arrived. At one time, Loki might have seen the reprieve as an opportunity, but today he was simply too tired. All he wanted was to get it over with. Be punished, be sentenced. Exiled. Executed. It didn't matter. So long as he could rest at the end of it.

But rest, it seemed, was a long way off. Literally. They appeared on the new-wrought Bridge, just beyond the skeleton of a new Observatory, and Loki eyed the long distance between them and the city with distaste.

"My King!"

Loki closed his eyes. Of course. Who else but the King's closest companions would be awaiting his return? He turned to see the Warriors Three and Lady Sif standing behind them, armed to the teeth and prepared, no doubt, to escort their mighty ruler and his dangerous prisoner back to the City.

But first, there was another round of embraces, and then each of them had to be greeted by turn. Then, of course, the chained miscreant (himself) had to be dragged forward to be displayed and the tale of his foul deeds related in great detail. At last, Thor announced that they should be on their way. Loki was briefly heartened when Lady Sif summoned mounts from the dome, but his spirits sank again when he realized that there was none for him.

Walking back in disgrace it was, then.

Fandral, at least, made mention of it. "Must we ride back at your brother's pace, Thor?" he complained. "It will take ages."

"Do you have other plans?" Lady Sif retorted. "A tryst, perhaps?"

"Alas, only with my own bed, Lady Sif," Fandral answered. "But the hour does grow late."

"We have walked this road many times before," Thor said. "And taken more than a few hours to do so. Do not tell me you have no tales worth telling from my time away."

That seemed to be the end of the discussion. Loki's chains were lashed to the saddle of Thor's horse--presumably so that he wouldn't repeat his plunge from the Bridge--and they set off.

At first, the journey wasn't difficult. Despite the humiliation of forcing him to walk while others rode above him, Thor at least kept the pace an easy one. Loki's long legs were able to keep up with the slow gait of the horses, and he soon fell into a plodding, steady rhythm. But he was tired, and the chains were heavy, and he found himself allowing the horse to pull him along more often than not. He even let his eyes fall shut from time to time, at least so long as they walked the straight, flat roads to the City.

It was somewhat of a surprise, then, to suddenly come awake again to the feel of a rough hand twisting in his hair, pulling his head back. Loki blinked, and found himself looking up into Hogun's unsmiling face. How had he gotten on his knees?

"Loki?" Thor's face loomed up next to Hogun's, his thick brow creased with concern. "Are you well?"

Loki would have laughed, if it wouldn't have hurt so much behind the sharp metal of the gag. Of course he wasn't "well." He was wearing pound upon pound of ugly metal designed to slowly suck out the heart of his being. No wonder he'd--apparently--nearly fainted on his feet.

Telling Thor that, however, even if he had the ability to speak, was unthinkable. So Loki did what he did best--lied, this time with a sharp nod--and climbed back to his feet.

A glance around showed that they had traveled most of the way back. Instead of reassuring him, he found the fact deeply unsettling. The last thing he remembered clearly was leaving the Bridge, meaning that he must have walked in his half-stupor for a long while indeed. Still, it was only a little further to go. He would walk it on his own two feet.

But Thor, for once, didn't seem convinced by his dissembling. "You are very pale, brother," he said. "Do your injuries still trouble you?"

This time, the shake of his head wasn't even a lie. The great beast had hurt him badly, there was no denying it, but those hurts barely troubled him anymore. All he needed was rest. Rest, and these cursed chains taken off, but he had few illusions about the latter happening any time soon. So he nodded his head toward the palace up ahead, indicating, he hoped, that he was ready to go on.

Thor nodded back, gripping his shoulder briefly. "Very well." He swung back up on his horse. This time, the pace he set was excruciating slow. Loki supposed it was his way of being merciful. For Thor, after all, it would be far better to walk than be slung ignominiously over the back of a horse. Then again, wasn't that the choice Loki had made for himself?

Loki's pride proved insufficient in the end. When they reached the stables, Thor and the others dismounted, and Thor himself untied the rope that held Loki's chain to his saddle. As soon as the binding chain was loosed, the full weight of it hanging once again from Loki's arms pulled him to the ground, as efficiently as if Thor had hung Mjolnir from the links. For a long, terrible moment, all he could do was kneel there on the cobbles, trembling arms braced to keep him from falling on his face.

"Brother!" Thor's hands were under his arms, lifting him up. Loki didn't even have the strength to shake him off, and so had to suffer being led--half-carried, if he dared admit it--to the bench outside the stable. He was deposited there as if he were a sack of flour, yet he couldn't be entirely ungrateful to be relieved, even temporarily, of the awful burden of his own body's weight.

"You are unwell," Thor said accusingly, and despite the pain it caused Loki had to smile. Trust his brother to be offended that he would hide even this from him, when Thor would also be the first to joke about his weakness. "Are you sick? Hurt?"

There seemed little point in hiding it any longer. With an effort, Loki lifted his hands, displaying the manacles, and the chain between them. Then he let his arms fall back into his lap, exhausted by the effort. He was unsurprised when Thor's face tightened, not with sympathy, but with frustration.

"I am sorry, Loki," he said. "But you have told so many lies. Do you expect me to believe that the one thing you must desire the most, also happens to be your cure?"

Loki had to shake his head. Even if Thor believed him, it would make no difference. As ruler, Thor couldn't--shouldn't--risk letting a sworn foe's magic loose in Asgard. He couldn't smile again, but he managed to lift his hand and grasp Thor's arm, a weak clasp that was little better than a feeble pat. Thor sighed.

"Come, then, brother," he said, and pulled him up.

At Thor's order, Volstagg took Loki's other arm, and between them they marched him into the palace. Loki did not even falter when they turned to the stairs that led downward into the dungeons, and indeed he'd already moved his own steps in that direction without having to be guided. It was, after all, the only place in all of Asgard that could possibly hold him.

The two men held him up while the guards fetched the keys to his cell, but when the guards would have taken him from Thor's grasp the King shook his head. "No. I would see to it myself." So Loki stumbled along to what he felt would likely be his last resting place with Thor's arm strong and warm around his waist.

The room was small, but it had a chair, and a table, and a bed. Loki didn't even bother with removing his boots, simply folded himself down onto the cot fully clothed. He didn't care anymore about the ache in his arms from the chain, or the sharp edges of the gag still stopping his mouth. All he wanted was sleep. He could hear Thor, speaking to him, saying something about his trial, his sentence, but it was too much to bother with. Loki shut his eyes, and let sleep come.

\-----

When he had fallen asleep, Loki had fully expected to be wakened within a few hours to attend his own trial. Instead, he woke to find himself still in the cell, alone, and apparently undisturbed since he'd lain down. He was stiff and somewhat muddy-headed, as if he'd slept much longer than just a night's worth, but he felt much better for it.

There was no food or water on the table, but that was to be expected. It would be many days before he would suffer from the lack, and Loki suspected that Thor would not want him to be able to speak until his fate was settled. It galled, but of course it would be the only way his brother could ensure the outcome he wanted. Let Loki begin to plead his own case, and even mighty Thor would have to yield.

But the pleasant fantasy was short-lived. He wouldn't be allowed. Thor wouldn't let himself be swayed by Loki's words, not this time. The harsh taste of metal in Loki's mouth proved that. He would have to cope with whatever judgment his brother chose to deal out, whether it be exile or death or some other punishment.

The time came soon enough. Loki had lain down again, trying to conserve his strength as best he could as the magical chains once again began to tire him. Surely they weren't meant to do this, to weigh down his very bones until even the thought of moving was a weariness. Perhaps his magic was such a part of him that there was no barrier between it and him, that to drain it was to drain his very life. It was less of an upsetting thought than it should have been. When the locks on the door began to slide open, Loki didn't even bother to rise.

It was Hogun and Volstagg who came in for him, with Sif and Fandral standing guard ostentatiously just outside. "Get up," Volstagg said. "It's time."

There was no point in fighting them. Loki swung his legs down and stood up.

"Strip," Hogun said, and at that Loki did balk, raising both brows in what he trusted was a very clear refusal.

"The King has ordered it," Volstagg said. "Don't make us force you, Loki."

It crossed his mind to make them do just that, hold him down while he struggled and fought. Make them strip him by force so that their hearts, at the least, wouldn't be clean when they brought him before Thor.

But it was so much effort. And he was tired.

In the end, they had to cut off most of his clothes anyway, the chains keeping him from removing his coat and tunic with any kind of dignity. Hogun was the one who did the cutting, slicing up the length of each sleeve in a single flash of sliver, his knives parting the heavy layers of leather and linen with barely a whisper. They let him deal with the rest himself.

When he was naked, Hogun pushed him to his knees, his hands rough and warm on Loki's shoulders. "I am sorry, Loki," he said, and Loki barely had time to wonder, after having just ordered him to bare his body to be exposed to the entire court, what he could possibly be apologizing for. Then he felt Volstagg's hands gathering up his hair, and despite his weariness, his resolve to not fight, he bucked up into Hogun's grip, his throat scraping raw with a cry of denial, swallowed up by the filters on the gag. Hogun tightened his hands, leaning his knees into Loki's shoulders to keep him in place.

His hair began to fall down around him, dropping in thick locks past his face and over his back, slithering down the bare skin of his arms to lie on the floor around him. Loki felt his breath catching in his chest, panting through his nose as he fought not to panic. He should have known, should have expected this, too. Thor had taken everything else, after all.

He did, though, look up once to meet the gaze of the Lady Sif, when it occurred to him to wonder why she hadn't chosen to participate in this particular humiliation. It would only be just, after all. But while there was some measure of satisfaction in her gaze, the look of one who sees a debt long owed being repaid, there was also the look of one who understands, and who gains no great pleasure from the memory. Loki quickly looked away again.

It only took a few minutes before he was shorn. He had stopped struggling by then, giving in to his own exhaustion, and to the despair of knowing that there was nothing more he could do. Nowhere he could hide. All he could do was wait and see what fate Thor had chosen for him.

\------

The audience chamber to which Sif and the Warriors Three took him was one Loki had been in many times before, watching as Odin held court and meted out justice to the people of Asgard. He couldn't say he'd _never_ imagined that he would one day be led to the place of reckoning himself, but to be brought there chained, gagged, naked and shorn hadn't figured into those thoughts.

The sheer number of witnesses, that was as he'd always imagined. The room was a large one, capable of holding several thousands, and today it was bursting. There was barely space for Fandral and Hogun to walk abreast ahead of him, with Sif and Volstagg behind, each holding one of his arms to, presumably, prevent him from flinging himself into the tight-packed throng and somehow escaping. Or possibly, he amended, as he regarded some of the faces looking out of the crowd, they were there to make sure he lived long enough to hear whatever doom Thor chose to lay upon him.

Despite the crowds, the room was cold, or at least it felt so to Loki's bare skin. The sensation of the air on the back of his neck was unfamiliar and unpleasant, a reminder of his shaven head that he hardly needed. He'd always understood, intellectually, why cutting the hair of an Aesir was a sign of disgrace, but until now he'd never appreciated how naked and alone it made him feel, as if much more than just his clothing had been taken away.

Thor waited at the head of the chamber, sitting silent on his throne with Mjolnir propped by his side, Gungnir in his hand. He probably imagined that his face revealed nothing, but Loki had had many long years to learn to read his brother's expressions. What he saw did not comfort him. Yes, there was pity there, and sadness, and even regret, especially as Thor's gaze lingered on his head and his mouth and his hands. But under it was a hardness, a resolve that Loki had seen before. And it had never gone well for the ones who stood against it.

It took only a nudge from Sif to make him stop walking. In truth, he was grateful for the respite. Even the short trip from the dungeons had drained him, the chains once more dragging him under with their heavy weight. When Sif touched his shoulder, Loki let himself fall to his knees, sagging with weariness on the cold stone, not even bothering any more to raise his head to face his brother.

"Loki Laufeyson."

That wasn't a good start.

"You are guilty of treason against the realm of Asgard, and against her King. You have also committed great crimes in other realms and brought disgrace and dishonor upon your name and your family. For these crimes, I would be within my rights as ruler of Asgard to cast you out, or order your execution."

The words floated over him, and Loki couldn't deny them. By the laws of Asgard, he was guilty. Oh, he could have argued, could have twisted and spun and danced with his words until no-one was sure anymore who was the traitor and who the hero, but muted as he was, helpless, there was nothing he could say. Exile or execution. A part of him almost wished to hear Thor declare the latter just to make it stop, just to have it end. But wait. Thor had said "would be."

"But your magic, the source of your evil, has been taken," Thor was going on. "You are but a man, now, capable only of a man's mischief. Odin the All-father taught me that justice should be fair, and swift. But he also taught me that each judgment is its own lesson. You have wronged my realm and wronged me, but there is also a way that you can repay your crime in service." He smiled down at Loki broadly, as if he were about to grant him a great prize. "This is my sentence, Loki Laufeyson. From this day forth, you will be servant to the ruler of Asgard, to serve me as my personal slave."

For a moment, Loki thought the air had been sucked right out of the room. He certainly couldn't breathe, and judging from the silence around him, neither could anyone else. Then the entire hall erupted into murmurs and shouts. And laughter.

Loki ground his teeth against the gag, not caring if he broke his jaw on the hard metal. No. No, this was wrong. Exile or death. Those were the proper punishments for his crimes. Not this. He became aware that he had squeezed his eyes shut, blotting out the only sense under his command. No.

Slowly, the noise around him faded, and he heard Thor speak again. "You will remain here, in the palace, and not step beyond the bounds on penalty of death. You will belong to me, and no other. You will obey me first, but will follow such commands of the court as I deem fit and worthy. I and no other, will grant you what freedoms and rights I find proper. Should you break the terms, then your life is forfeit. Should you refuse the terms, then your life is also forfeit."

At those words, Loki nearly sagged in relief. There was an out, then. An end. An end to this. Then he stopped in horror as he realized what he had just thought. Was he so far gone as that, so weary that death was better than living?

But was life as Thor's slave--Thor's whore, because that's what it really meant under all the pretty words--better than death?

"Do you hear, son of Laufey? Do you accept my sentence?"

It took a greater effort than he expected, just to raise his head and face Thor. Could he? The thought of bedding Thor, his brother, made his stomach lurch with horror. Suffering the scorn of the entire court knowing that he did was even worse. But it was life. And Loki was surprised to discover that he wasn't, after all, so tired that he was ready to die. Not yet. He bit down on the gag, forcing himself to breathe, and nodded.


	2. Chapter 2

Rather to his surprise--and frankly, disappointment--Loki was taken immediately to Thor's own chambers after the sentence was pronounced. He hadn't thought that the chains would be removed, not this soon, but he had hoped that at least there would be a stop at the armory to get the thrice-cursed gag off. That task, however, was clearly not on the list of priorities. Nor was providing him with any clothing. Had any of his guards been Sif, Hogun, Fandral, or Volstagg, things might have been different, but he had been given over to another quartet of warriors at the doors of the audience chamber. So, instead of being given freedom to speak or clothing to wear, he was given water to wash with and an order to do so at once. He was watched with what he felt was over-keen interest while he obeyed. But after he was finished, the guards merely told him to kneel and wait.

That, at least, was no great physical hardship. Thor had a number of thick furs scattered around his rooms, pelts of creatures that he'd hunted and bested. No one objected when Loki chose the obey this command where he happened to be standing; on the skin of a large black wolf. Nor did anyone seem to care overmuch about his posture, either, if he knelt upright or if he allowed his weight to rest back on his calves and thighs, feet tucked flat beneath him. No doubt he would be uncomfortable enough in time, but for now it was enough to not be standing anymore, to let his aching arms lie still on his lap.

Twice he even dozed off, jerking awake as his head fell forward on his chest, but the shadows on the floor told him that only an hour or so had passed before Thor returned to his rooms.

"Leave us," he ordered the guards, and they departed without a word. Loki would have made a number of cutting remarks about Thor's boldness in letting himself be left alone with his evil sorcerous brother, but none of them were his to make any more, even if he'd been left with the means to say them. So he knelt, head bowed, and waited.

"Stand up." Thor was walking toward him even as Loki rose, and he steeled himself. For what, he wasn't even sure. A blow, an embrace...either one was equally unwelcome. But instead, Thor reached around the back of Loki's head and began to work at the clasps of the metal gag. Loki hadn't been allowed to see how the wretched thing had been held shut, but twice Thor reached to his belt for different keys, each twist loosening the pressure around his jaws. Then, finally, the awful thing was pulling away from his head, Thor's hands steadying his chin to work his fingers between Loki's skin and where the metal had dug into his flesh.

"I am sorry," Thor said quietly once the gag had been peeled back, easing the metal plate and bit out of Loki's mouth with gentle care. "But I could not let you speak until it was over. It was the only way to ensure that true justice was done."

"Justice?!" It came out as nothing more than a dry rasp of incoherent sound, Loki's throat so dry that he couldn't even force that one word past his swollen tongue. Thor's face twisted in what was likely pity--sorely misplaced considering that it was he who had first locked the thing around Loki's mouth--and he turned away to fetch water from the table by the window. He brought back both pitcher and cup, and gestured for Loki to sit on the couch before the unlit fire.

"Just a little," he warned, giving Loki the cup only half-full. Loki glared, but took the cup and drank, not stopping until the meager contents were gone. "I've sent for a meal," Thor went on, taking the cup back from Loki and filling it to the half-mark again. "You should eat, get your strength back."

 _Why, so you can bed me all the sooner?_ was on the tip of Loki's tongue, but he bit it back. This was, he reminded himself, Thor being kind, doing what he felt would help. Until Loki knew the full measure of his intentions, he would be best served to wait, and listen.

But Thor didn't seem to feel the need to explain himself, at least not right away. He vanished into his bedchamber for a time, leaving Loki to slowly empty the water pitcher, cup by cup. When Thor returned, he was free of his courtly armor, wearing only a plain red tunic and black trousers. He had another pair of trousers in his hand.

"Here," he said, holding them out to Loki. "We'll get more things for you to wear tomorrow, but this will do for now."

Loki nodded his thanks, and stood to put the trousers on. They were old, but that only meant that the linen was soft against his skin, worn and comfortable. Thor hadn't brought him anything else to wear, no tunic or shoes or even smallclothes, but at least the trousers covered his nakedness. It was as much as he could ask for. He certainly couldn't wear any of his own clothes, probably still carefully preserved in his old rooms. For a slave to clothe himself as a prince of the Aesir--well, except in their cast-offs, of course--was unthinkable.

When he had buckled the belt around his waist, Loki sat again, letting the links of chain pile into his lap. He wondered if Thor would take it amiss if he were to simply lay his head down here on the couch. Surely he had the excuse of...of something. The days' trial, though that had been laughably short. Or maybe hunger. The long journey.

But no. He had traded death for this, to attend on Thor. To serve him. Even though it crawled under his skin like cold worms, the thought of the "service" he would no doubt do later tonight, on his back in Thor's bed, he had turned away from that abyss. So serve he must.

All the same, it did not seem that Thor himself was eager to demand much from him, at least not yet. After giving Loki the clothing, he had gone into the bedroom again. He only returned after Loki had dressed, carrying a bowl and several clean cloths. Loki felt a surge of apprehension, wondering if he would be expected to bathe Thor, or bathe himself again with another audience.

At first, it seemed to be that his fears weren't far off the mark. Thor sat down next to him, placing the bowl on the table, and dipped one of the cloths in the faintly steaming water. Loki schooled himself not to flinch as his brother reached for him, but instead of the intimacies he dreaded, Thor merely took Loki's chin in his hand and raised the cloth to his face. It was only when the warm water touched the first of the raw welts left behind on Loki's face that he felt the tension in his body ease. This, at least, was familiar enough, letting Thor tend to what small hurts might be left after a battle or adventure. They had done it for each other often enough, wrapping up broken bones and cleansing wounds to let their own bodies heal that much the faster.

Loki wasn't sure if the familiarity was comforting, or if it would only make what was to come that much harder.

"I know this is not what either of us would have wanted," Thor said presently, dipping the cloth in the water again and squeezing out the excess before returning it to Loki's face, pressing it to a long welt along Loki's jaw. "So much has happened between us. Too much." He tried to catch Loki's gaze with his own, and Loki let him, wanting to see what was written in Thor's face more than he wished to hide what was in his own. "But you are still my brother, even if not by blood. I could not order your death, whether by exile or by sword, not if some other way was open to me. I know this may seem hard, but you will see it's for the best. And I hope--" Thor's grip tightened on his chin, then softened into what was almost a caress. "I hope that in time, this will not seem like such a punishment. That you will find a place here."

"As your slave?" Loki tried to say, but even the pitcher of water he'd drunk hadn't been enough, and the words caught in his mouth with a harsh cough. Thor drew away to pour more water, but he'd evidently heard enough to understand.

"I couldn't let you live as a free man, Loki. Not after what you did. Can't you understand?"

And, yes, Loki could understand. Could understand very well that he should, by Asgard's laws, be dead or cast out by now. But that didn't make it easier to sit here across from the man he'd been raised to call "brother" and know that he'd only been spared for the honor of spreading his legs for him. He could endure it, would no doubt learn to accept it. But to expect gratitude was, he felt, just a bit much. When his other choice was death, the bar for submission was not very high.

All the same, perhaps it was time he began to put that resolve into practice. "Yes," he whispered.

To his relief, that simple declaration made Thor relax, a small smile curving at his mouth. "Good," he said. Then he paused, and reached now for Loki's hands, clasping them in his own. "There is one thing more, that I feel I should say."

Loki wanted to say "No, no more, please," but a part of him knew that it was his own weariness speaking. Best to get all the horrors on display at once, so he could figure out how to deal with them all the sooner.

"I wanted to spare you, this is true. But I would not be truthful if I did not say that I did this for more than just to save your life. I have long thought of the day when I would be King, when I would rule Asgard. The day when I would wed, take a companion to be by my side. And I have long regretted that you could not be that...one. You were long my brother, but you are also my friend, my comrade in arms. When I said that I hoped you could find a place, I meant that place to be with me, by my side." Thor stopped, then went on. "I love you."

Loki felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. Oh, by all the gods. He did. He really did.

"I know it is strange," Thor went on, either not seeing Loki's shock or knowing he had best speak over it. "I never spoke of it before. I could not, so long as I knew we were brothers. But now that I know that we come from different mothers, different fathers, I could not help but see a chance. I know--" He breathed deep. "I know that this might not be easy. I haven't had the chance to say things as I might have, with gentle words and and gifts and songs. All I can promise now is that I will treat you well, and will see that no harm comes to you. This can be a chance for us both, for us to find something of worth even out of all that you've done. Can you see that?"

Numbed, Loki could only nod. He quite suddenly saw it all too well.

But still. "My magic." It cost him to force the words past his throat, but if there were any that had to be said, those were the ones. There was no making any of this better while his magic was bound.

But Thor only shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said. "If I freed your magic, you would only flee. And then I would have no choice but to declare your death. This is for the best, Loki."

With that, Thor leaned forward, as to kiss him. It took every bit of will Loki still possessed not to recoil as Thor's mouth closed on his, wet and warm. But it was more will than he had, right then, to force himself to respond, and when Thor drew back he was frowning. 

"You look tired, brother," he said at last. "Perhaps you should rest until it is time to eat."

Loki nodded again, fisting his hands at his sides to keep from wiping his mouth clean. By then, he could almost have wept with exhaustion, yet the thought of sleeping here, in Thor's rooms--under Thor's power--made his back shiver with helpless dread. It was a pointless reaction, he realized. Whether Thor had him now or tonight or days from now made no difference. It was going to happen, and all Loki could do was make the best of it.

It wasn't until he stood up that Loki realized he had no idea where he was expected to lie. He would be sharing Thor's bed, but that by no means meant that he would be allowed to sleep there. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to ask. "Where is my bed?"

Thor looked startled. "Why, in mine, of course. I would not have you sleep on the floor like a dog, Loki."

Of course not. "Thank you," Loki made himself say, and crossed the room to the inner door. He half-expected Thor to follow, but when he closed the door behind him he was alone.

Loki leaned against the door for a long, blessed moment, struggling to gather his thoughts. The burnished metal was cool on his face and hands where he pressed to the thick gilded slabs, but he couldn't hold there for long before his arms began to shake from the strain. He pushed himself away and stumbled to the bed, flinging himself on top of the thick down duvet without much care how and where he landed.

He knew he should be using this time to think, to plan--to marshal his mental resources against the impossibility of his situation and decide how best to survive it. But he ached all over, a chill, dull pain that sank right down to the marrow of his bones. He groped for the edge of the duvet, but the featherbed was too much effort for him to lift, even to pull a fold over himself. He gave up, burrowing instead into the pillows, letting his arms splay out in front of him, the chain flung as far from his body as he could manage. 

Lying still at last, as comfortable as he was going to be, it was an almost overwhelming temptation to let grief overtake him, succumb to the nearly crushing despair that was all he could see when he looked to his future. Loki would have wept, if he could, just to get it over with. But he was simply too tired for any of that. Long before he could summon the energy for tears, he had fallen asleep.

\-----

Thor woke him when the food arrived, calling him up from strange, disjointed dreams that fled the instant he opened his eyes. Loki didn't feel particularly rested from his sleep, but he did feel hungry. He was accustomed to eating in large portions, replenishing the energies he spent whenever he used sorcery, but he surprised even himself with the quantity of meats and cheese and bread he stuffed down at Thor's table. Then again, it had been several days since he'd been allowed any food other than the liquid nutrients the mortals had given him, and the last of those had been more than a day ago. It was hardly surprising that his body would be more demanding.

Loki was equally generous to himself with the mead. The last thing he wanted to be tonight was sober. There was no hope of getting even close to insensible on the pair of pitchers that had been served with their meal, not even if Loki had managed to consume them both by himself, but his share was at least enough to numb him a little. Enough to let him ask, "What is it you expect of me?"

He managed to surprise Thor with the question. They'd eaten mostly in silence, both of them concentrating more on what was on their plates than on each other. Now that Loki's hunger was sated, he needed satisfaction of another kind. Thor put down his cup, and regarded him from across the table.

"I told you. I want you to have a place with me, at my side."

"Yes, but as what? Your slave? Your consort? Your whore?" Loki felt a stab of satisfaction as Thor winced at the last.

"No," he said, and Loki had to give him points for not shouting. "I mean, yes, you are a slave, but you will have more honor than that. I can't make you a consort, of course--"

"Of course," Loki murmured.

"--but there is a custom among the nobility in Aelfheim of giving status to the ruler's bed mate."

Loki stared at him. "You mean to make me your concubine," he said flatly. "Please explain how giving it a prettier name will make this different from being your bed-slave."

"It will be different because I will make it different," Thor said.

"Not to the court!" Loki wasn't aware that he'd clenched his fists until his hands started to hurt. He relaxed his fingers slowly, spreading them out on the table to show off the bright gold bands around his wrists. "Whether you call it concubine or bed-warmer or 'personal slave,' they will know what use you make of me."

Thor looked down at the table. "It was the only way I could keep you alive. I can be accused of serving my own desires," and the tone in his voice suggested that some had already done so, "but you also know it to be the truth."

That was the damnable part of it. Thor was right. There was no other position humiliating enough, debasing enough, that would justify keeping a Prince of the Aesir from death or banishment. Well, and not be so debasing that a Prince of Aesir would be decreed better off dead.

"I know." Loki forced his voice to be even, and reasonable. "And I am grateful for my life." He should add more, reassure Thor that it was only his worry about the scorn of the court that made him so upset, but the words wouldn't come. Perhaps because at the moment, it was difficult to feel grateful for much of anything beyond the fact that he still breathed. Time enough for those words later.

Much later.

\-----

Thor left not long after they had eaten, saying that he had to meet with envoys from the Dwarves. He promised to return within a few hours, then kissed Loki's mouth again in farewell. The kiss was another kind of promise, one that sent Loki sinking into the nearest chair as soon as the door closed behind Thor. He wiped his mouth with his hand, then forced himself to break down the problem while he was rested and fed, while he could actually _think_.

Having sex with Thor, he knew, wouldn't end him. He had suffered worse, in his time, torments that were far more brutal and violent than his brother's--no doubt generous--sexual attentions were likely to be. It would be unpleasant, but he would survive. He would have to, otherwise Thor would have no excuse to spare him. Oh, he was certain Thor would try to keep up the pretense, should he become squeamish over Loki's reluctance. But it would take the rest of the court no time at all to see through the lie, and that would leave Thor--and Loki--in a very tight bind indeed.

So Loki would not be reluctant. He would be the willing concubine, lift his shirt for Thor and pretend to like it. So long as he played his role, Thor would be satisfied to keep him. He would be a slave, and stripped of his magic, and forced to be Thor's whore, but he would be alive.

Now all Loki had to do was keep convincing himself that it was a worthy bargain.

He was tiring again, so he rose from the chair and went back into the inner chamber, knowing that he should rest while he could. The sight of the bed made his stomach cold with dread, but he told himself to get used to it. He would be taken by his brother in that bed, probably within a very few hours, but it was his bed, too, now. He should become accustomed to lying in it.

It occurred to Loki, standing there, that it might be best--for his own comfort if nothing else--to see that certain practicalities were attended to ahead of time. He found what was needed in Thor's private bathing chamber, and spent several long and awkward minutes standing on one leg with the other foot braced on a stool, the better to work himself open on his own fingers.

If he still had his magic, he reflected with not a little bitterness, he could have done this with a thought, or simply given himself a female opening. Or a female body. But the manacles seemed to block his shapeshifting powers as well.

That worried him. Loki's magical ability was a part of him, certainly. It had required knowledge and practice to bring forth and control, but he had never lacked the raw potential for magic. Being able to change his form was...something different. Using magic required effort, focus, study. Shapeshifting was a mere act of will, making a wish and having it become so. Sometimes, he reflected, looking down at his currently pale-pink Asgardian body, it didn't even require that much. The chains appeared to have somehow locked him in this form, whether by blocking his access to his shapeshifting talent, or by draining away whatever magic it required. In either case, he didn't like it.

Not least of which because of the humiliating task he'd just had to perform to ensure that his own rape would be as painless as he could manage.

When he was done, and had washed his hands and put the jar of oil away, Loki put his head down on the marble-topped counter and did nothing but breathe.

For a long, long time.


	3. Chapter 3

As promised, Thor returned after only a few hours. Loki had finally made himself lie down, and sleep had overtaken him soon after. He woke when Thor opened the door to the bedroom, every nerve in his body jumping to alert at once when he sensed the other presence in the room. Heart pounding, Loki lay still on the bed, wondering if Thor was just checking to see if he was asleep, if he would leave again if it seemed that Loki hadn't woken.

Which was of course ridiculous. These were Thor's chambers, Thor's room. Where else would Thor sleep but in his own bed? Loki was the interloper, here only on Thor's whim. Should Thor choose to order it, Loki would be sleeping in the outer room, or on the floor, or in the stables. Everything he had now was only at Thor's sufferance, and Loki had best not forget it.

Thor crossed the room to the enormous wardrobe and set to the task of unbuckling his armor. Realizing there was no point in feigning sleep any longer, Loki sat up and touched on the light beside the bed.

Thor turned as the light came on, his chest plate in his hands. "Ah, you're awake. Did you rest well?"

"Well enough." Loki slid back to rest against the pillows. The timepiece on the wall showed that it was late in the evening, and the sky outside the windows was inky black. "Are the Dwarves gone?"

"They will return to their own realm tomorrow. Well-satisfied, I think." Thor sat down to remove his boots.

"Because of me?" Loki said quietly, not sure where the sudden intuition came from, but feeling the cold stab of satisfaction as he saw, by the stiffening of Thor's shoulders, that the dart had hit home.

"They were afraid," Thor answered after a pause, setting aside his boots. He braced his hands on his knees, looking up at Loki from under his knitted brows. "You tried to destroy Jotunheim and take control over all of Midgard," he said bluntly. "The other realms did take note."

"And yet they were satisfied with this?" Loki raised his hands, letting the links of his chains rattle over his knees. "They did not demand my painful and lingering death?"

"I will not deny it; that was discussed," Thor said. "But once they understood the terms, they were content with the punishment."

The tight, icy knot that had lodged in Loki's belly, eased by the false comfort of their talk, grew colder. "I see."

"Loki." Thor passed his hand over his face. "Loki, I am sorry. But this is the entire reason that I did this. You live, and Asgard remains at peace with those who would otherwise want you dead. If you find this embarrassing to your pride, then perhaps you could remember that your pride would be the least thing to suffer if your judgement had been given to any hands other than my own."

Loki had to look away. "Trust me," he said. "I remember."

He heard Thor sigh deeply. The chair creaked as he rose, and then Loki heard the soft pad of his bare feet as he came to the bed. There was a time not so long ago when his presence would have been comforting in Loki's despair, but right now his tall, broad body was a reminder of the very thing Loki was desperately hoping to avoid. Still, he remained where he was, and allowed Thor to sit by his feet, and to put his hand on his ankle. "I gave you my word that you would come to no harm," he said. "This was all for the purpose of saving you, Loki."

_Not all_ , Loki wanted to remind him, feeling the weight of Thor's hand on his leg, like a steel band pinning him to the bed. But he only nodded. Thor rubbed his thumb over the bone of Loki's foot, and smiled. He bent forward to take up one of Loki's hands, kissing the tips of his fingers, then squeezed softly and let him go. He went back to the wardrobe, pulling his tunic over his head, then turned back over his shoulder to smile again at Loki, this time looking a little less sure of himself. Then he worked at the buckle of his belt, and a moment later his trousers were sliding down his legs, soon followed by his smallclothes. Thor then turned to face him, naked, hands at his sides.

Oh.

It was to be now, then.

After what seemed like an age, Loki forced himself to move. He stood up from the bed and set to work on his own buckle, his fingers suddenly gone stiff and clumsy as the binding chain banged around his knees. Then he was kicking his own trousers away, leaving him naked to Thor's gaze. Again.

Thor crossed the room to him in a few slow strides, completely unselfconscious in his own bare skin. It was hardly the first time Loki had seen his body, at that, but never before had Thor's genitals been of any particular interest to him. He couldn't help but look now, and wished he hadn't when he saw that Thor was half-hard already, the thick shaft dangling swollen and dark between his thighs.

"Loki." Thor stopped in front of him, and put his hands on Loki's arms, rubbing gently up and down. It was something like an embrace, likely meant to be comforting, but Loki wasn't in the right frame of mind for comforting. It was almost a relief when Thor stepped closer and pressed his mouth to Loki's.

Loki tried to remind himself that this was not new, that he was not an awkward virgin waiting to be taken and overwhelmed. But all his experience seemed to have deserted him. Loki could remember other lovers, recall kisses and caresses and hands on warm skin, but the disgust that crawled over him from Thor's mouth touching him froze him in place, keeping him from even mechanically copying the motions he remembered. For a time, he could only stand there, hands by his sides, while Thor's lips moved against his skin.

_Move_ , he told himself sternly. _Kiss him. Touch him. Do something, before he wonders why his willing conquest is standing like a statue._

So he did. The chains were still heavy on his wrists, a grotesque reminder of why this whole farce was even necessary, but Loki lifted up his arms and put them around Thor's shoulders, spreading his hands across the broad muscles of his back. Thor responded by pulling him closer, and Loki couldn't suppress a shiver as his cock brushed Loki's hip, twitching against his skin. His own penis was nothing more than a limp weight between his legs, so far from being interested in the proceedings that Loki doubted a professional courtesan would be able to rouse him at this point. That could be a problem, but it wasn't something he could do anything about right now.

One thing at a time.

Before long, Thor pushed Loki back onto the bed, climbing on top of him and kissing at his neck and shoulder. His beard was prickly on Loki's skin, uncomfortable and rasping, but it wasn't long until Loki made himself get used to it, closing his eyes and forcing himself to lie still instead of giving in to the impulse to squirm away. He let his hands settle on Thor's waist, easing one leg up between Thor's in a--probably vain--hope that Thor would be content to rub off against his thigh. It also had the desirable side-effect of pushing Thor away from his own slack cock.

Thor placed a final kiss at the point of Loki's collarbone and then took hold of his wrists, lifting his hands away so that he could duck his head underneath the binding chain, settling Loki's arms around him. Well. Apparently Thor was familiar with how to have sex with someone whose hands were bound. The thought wasn't comforting.

Still, despite the fact that Loki was now forced to embrace him, without the means to effectively push him away, it also meant he had a better hold on Thor. Loki used it now to urge them both onto their sides, settling the hard line of Thor's cock in the groove of his hip. Thor apparently liked that, and they spent quite a long time kissing that way, Thor rocking slowly against Loki's leg while he ran his hands up and down his back.

Eventually, despite Loki's best efforts, Thor's own thigh pressed up against Loki's groin, against the mound of his cock lying soft and shrunken along his hip. Loki knew that the rest of his performance had been at least adequate, his kisses and touches betraying nothing of the cold horror that sat in his stomach, but the one thing he hadn't been able to do was convince his own body to respond.

After a moment of none-too-subtle exploration with shifts of his hips and legs, Thor drew away, his hands warm on Loki's shoulders. "Are you all right?" he asked. "If you are too weary, we can stop--"

"No!" Loki said quickly. No, please. If this was going to happen, then by all the Nine Realms he would do it now. Whether his body enjoyed the experience or not did not matter. All he wanted was for it to be done. "No, this is well enough for me." He made himself smile, and reached his hand up to touch the side of Thor's face. "You are limited, to think that the only pleasure of sex comes out of your cock."

But Thor did not look convinced. "You have been injured," he said. "And I have not forgotten how you fell on the journey from the Rainbow Bridge. We have time."

"I am tired," Loki conceded. "And it seems these chains--" He drew them across Thor's back as a reminder. "--may be affecting more than my magic. But please..." He kissed Thor gently, deliberately rubbing his leg over the stiff length of him. "Don't stop."

To his distress, Thor began to pull away, making to lift the chain over his head. "We'll wait," he said. "I am sorry. I should not have pressed you so soon."

"Wait, please!" Loki caught at Thor's hands, stopping him. His gut clenched at having to do this, having to practically beg for his own rape, but he knew it wasn't going to get better tomorrow night, or any other night. Fighting his revulsion, he kissed Thor with all the passion he could feign, pushing him onto his back so Loki could climb on top, grinding his hips down over Thor's erection. "I want this," he lied, clenching his fists behind Thor's head, where he couldn't see. "I prepared myself for you, even." Oh, how desperate he sounded, how frantic.

Thor frowned, one large hand sweeping down from Loki's back. He slid a finger down the cleft of Loki's buttocks, then his eyes widened as he found the slick oil still smeared there. Loki's body clenched despite himself when Thor slid the tip of his finger inside to test him, his belly knotting up in icy dread. He wanted to run, to clamp his legs together from this obscene wide-legged sprawl, to snarl and spit and beat at the face below him until he was free. Thor's finger slid out, and Loki could breathe again.

"Are you sure?" Thor asked, and Loki relaxed in relief.

"Of course." He smiled and kissed Thor, then slid off him, lifting his arms over Thor's head to disentangle them. With another smile, Loki rose onto his hands and knees, making his offer clear.

It hurt even more than he'd expected, despite his precautions, and Thor's own care. Everything had to be forced, Thor's cock pushed inch by slow inch into his resisting body. Behind him, Thor was making soft noises of pleasure, his hips rolling gently as he worked Loki open on his cock. Loki was sickened by the sounds, swallowing to try to quell the bile rising in his throat. Thor rubbed at Loki's back with one big hand, the other settled firm on his hip to steady him. It was likely meant to be soothing. Loki put his head down between his folded arms, nearly sobbing when he finally felt Thor's balls brush against him.

"Is this good?" Thor asked, and Loki squeezed his eyes shut, wanting to scream at him to just get on with it, rut into him and be done.

"Yes, it's fine," he got out. How convenient, that the gasp of pain in his voice sounded so much like pleasure. "It's good. Go on."

Thor took him at his word, pulling back slow and then easing in again. It was maddeningly obvious that he didn't want to hurt Loki, that he wanted to make this pleasurable for him. But it just hurt, his body too tired to take any enjoyment out of this. He'd hoped that the pressure of Thor's cock inside would help his own cock fill, and at least preserve that much of the illusion, but apparently the exhaustion and pain were too much to overcome.

Finally, Thor began to thrust in earnest, rutting at Loki at a pace that would, hopefully, bring him to climax sooner rather than later. Loki could only hope that the tales of his brother's sexual stamina, repeated by the ladies of the court, were exaggerations. After several minutes, it appeared that the tales were, unfortunately, all too true. Loki gritted his teeth, pressing his forehead into the pillows, grateful that his face was hidden by his arms as Thor pushed into him over and over. Sweat stung in his eyes from the stifling heat of his own breath in the closed space, his knees and elbows jerking roughly back and forth over the scratchy sheets with every thrust. Wasn't the man ever going to be done?

Even worse now, he was beginning to tire, the muscles in his thighs quivering with the strain of holding himself up against the relentless pounding. After some thought, Loki arched his back, as if opening himself more in passion, and spread out his knees to lower himself closer to the mattress. A few more such maneuvers, and he could collapse on his stomach, one knee pulled up to keep himself spread and Thor still firmly inside him. Much better.

The disadvantage was that now Thor could see his face--half of it anyway--and Loki had to school his expression to conceal his discomfort. He soon found that panting open-mouthed through any pain was an effective deception, and that groans were equally double-edged. When Thor released his hip to reach up and twine their fingers together, squeezing his hand became another perverse expression of his own agony.

At last, Thor's thrusts became faster, harder, and then more erratic as he panted and grunted on top of him. By then, Loki felt as if he were being raped by knives, he was so sore and dry from the long plowing. At least his keening gasps of pain still sounded like cries of pleasure.

Then, suddenly, Thor stopped. Loki had a moment to imagine that it was over, that Thor had spent himself between one thrust and the next, but it wasn't so. Instead, Thor shifted himself behind Loki, then his hands were on Loki's buttocks, spreading them, and something cool and slick trickled over his ass. 

Of course. Thor wouldn't want him to be _uncomfortable_ after all.

Thor's thumbs were spreading the oil now, rubbing it into the sore, swollen flesh still stretched around his cock. Loki had to clamp his teeth on his lip to keep from crying out, rolling his face down into the pillow just in time to keep himself hidden. He hadn't thought this could be worse, he truly hadn't. But the sensation Thor's fingers pushing oil up his ass to ease the way for more of this, to make it all last longer. It was so much worse than he ever could have imagined.

"Another moment," Thor murmured above him, now easing his slippery cock in and out to spread more oil inside. "I want to take my time, don't want to hurt you, Loki."

Loki couldn't quite stop the choke of laughter.

All the same, he couldn't be entirely ungrateful for the respite. Once Thor laid the bottle of oil aside and resumed, the slide of his cock was much less painful. And although the delay had no doubt increased Thor's stamina, it was also clear that his completion was not far off. Loki was able to bury his face in the pillow and just wait, exhausted and sick, for the relentless pounding to stop.

Then it was over. Loki closed his eyes as Thor gave a long, stuttered groan and buried himself deep, hips thrusting in tiny spasms against his aching ass. Finally.

But then he had to lie there, pinned under Thor's heavy, smothering weight. Smile softly, as if in post-coital happiness. Feel Thor's beard scratch along his shoulders and neck as he kissed him. Shiver as the soft, thick mane of Thor's hair swept along Loki's arm, a cruel contrast to the rough stubble that was all that was left on his own head. Feel Thor's cock soften in his body and finally slip out, then the slow, cool drip of Thor's come trickle down his leg.

Inside, Loki just felt cold, and hollow. He wanted desperately to get up, to push Thor off him, to wipe away the disgusting sticky mess leaking out of him. Instead, he lay still, waiting for Thor to get up on his own, or to fall asleep on top of him.

After an eternity of damp kisses and sweaty caresses, Thor finally rolled away, letting Loki breathe for the first time in what seemed like hours. As much he wanted to, Loki didn't leap immediately from the bed, instead slowly stretching himself out, as if moving away reluctantly. Only then did he lift himself up to kiss Thor's shoulder, saying, "I'll be right back."

It was a lie.

There wasn't much blood, but Loki was incredibly sore and tender when he pressed the warm cloth between his legs. He finished cleaning himself off carefully, not even daring to look at the mess on the cloth as he threw it away in the waste bin. Then he got up to look for the jar of healing salve he remembered seeing in Thor's cabinets.

The salve helped, cooling and numbing the swollen ache. It also stung, a little, but that quickly passed and Loki knew that it meant the bleeding would likely stop very soon. He put the jar back, then had to sit down on a stool because his legs were finally giving out. The chain seemed to weigh a thousand pounds again, the links slithering off his lap to the floor so that he sat slumped over, arms propped on his knees. He could barely hold his head up, and he wondered how he was going to make it back to Thor's bed. Or if he wanted to.

He wanted to think about this, to decide what to do next, how to act when he returned to the bed. Loki had made it through this, but he knew Thor had been left with a few moments of doubt that needed to be reassured. He should return to bed, and do so. But all he wanted now was to sleep. He wondered if curling up right here on the tiles of the bath chamber would really be all that uncomfortable. Just until he felt better.

"Loki?" Thor's hand brushed over his head, the sensation strange on his shaven scalp. Then Thor's arm was around him, and Thor was helping him back to the sleeping room. It didn't matter any more about his plans. Loki lay down where Thor put him, not caring where he slept, or who was going to sleep with him. He'd have plenty of time to worry about it tomorrow.

\-----

In his dream, Loki stood in the vaults again, the Casket of Ancient Winters cold in his hands. He was alone, but Odin's voice echoed around him.

_"I thought we could unite our kingdoms one day. Bring about an alliance, bring about permanent peace. Through you."_

He turned, but instead of the vault, he was now in Thor's bedchamber, and he was watching himself on the bed, being raped. Thor was thrusting into him vigorously, muscles rippling across his back and buttocks as he rode him. Loki looked at his own face, twisted in pain, tears leaking from his eyes to be mixed with the sweat running down his face, both soaked up in the bedclothes to leave no trace.

He looked across the bed, and saw Odin standing there. He was wearing his court robes and golden eyepatch, watching without expression as his sons coupled.

"Is this what you meant?"

Loki's own voice fell flat and dull in the room. Odin didn't look at him. "Is this what you meant," he said again, "when you spoke of uniting Asgard and Jotunheim? Did you mean for Asgard to enslave Jotunheim, punish them and defile them? Or did you just want me to lift my ass for your own son?"

At that, Odin raised his head, finally meeting his gaze. He didn't speak. But Loki could hear him anyway, hear the echo of that fateful day when he'd learned the truth about himself. About his father. Heard it inside his head where he couldn't block it out, couldn't not listen.

_"I thought we could unite our kingdoms... Through you._

_But those plans no longer matter."_

Heard the thing that Odin did not say, but which Loki knew anyway: "You no longer matter."

The air in the vault was cold, the tears on Loki's face like ice. The bed remained, he and Thor still heaving and grunting on top of it. Odin was gone. The Casket was gone. Loki wanted to move, to step forward, to stop it. Pull Thor away, scream at him that he was raping his own brother, couldn't he see that?

But Thor couldn't see it, because the Loki on the bed was moaning in pleasure now, his face slack with desire. He had his hand under his belly, stroking himself with quick, furious pulls, and he was begging Thor to go faster, harder, make him come, yes, like that, yes...

"STOP!"

Loki's own cry startled him awake, every muscle in his body seizing at once in panic as he was yanked from the dream. He lay there, sweating and cold, staring at the ceiling of the room until he convinced himself that he was indeed awake, no longer dreaming. He was in Asgard, in Thor's chambers, in Thor's bed.

How frightening that this was a relief.

"Loki." Thor stirred behind him, groping out clumsily until one of his ham hands fell on Loki's back. "Loki. What's wrong?"

Loki made himself breathe, feeling his heart pound in his chest like a racing horse. "A dream," he said, his throat feeling raw from his own shout. "That's all. Go back to sleep."

Thor shifted up onto his elbow, leaning over him. "You're crying," he said, his own voice husky with sleep. He ran his finger along Loki's jaw, and showed him the water clinging to his fingertip.

"What?" But when Loki reached up to touch his own face, he felt the dampness streaking his cheeks. "Oh."

"What were you dreaming?"

Loki shook his head. "I don't recall," he lied. He sat up, rubbing his hand over his jaw. His face was wet, sticky and salty with tears he didn't remember having shed. "I've had...strange dreams. Since the abyss." That much, at least, was truth. "Sometimes I wake like this." Lie. "Don't trouble yourself."

"Nonsense." Thor heaved up next to him, propping his arms on his knees. "I was worried for you, Loki. You seemed hardly awake at all when I brought you to bed."

"I was only tired." Loki glanced over, and caused a small smile to appear on his lips, having to force his mouth to obey the command. "I don't think I need explain what brought me to that state."

"Still, you were nearly insensible," Thor argued. "I wish you would have told me that you were so weary. We did not have to couple tonight. It could have waited."

"I didn't want to wait," Loki said quietly.

Thor was silent for a moment, then he leaned over and kissed the side of Loki's head, sliding an arm around him to pull him close. "Tell me about your dreams," Thor said.

"There's nothing to tell. I don't remember them, mostly." Loki reached over to put his hand on Thor's arm, squeezing softly. "I'm going to wash up. Go back to sleep."

This time, Thor heeded him, if reluctantly. Loki took his time in the bath chamber, dunking his entire head in a basin of water to help clear his head. The dream had been troubling, and unfortunately not difficult to interpret. He was in a very bad state indeed if he couldn't control himself in his dreams.

But at least he had played his role in the waking world. Thor had been completely taken in by his feigned enjoyment, there was no question in Loki's mind of that. He would have to continue to offer Thor sex, but with the first horrible experience over and done with, it would be easier to manage. 

Tomorrow he would learn his other duties. Tomorrow he would face the Aesir. He would be clothed as a slave, and he would kneel as a slave to those who had once bowed to him as their King.

Then he would live to see the next day, whether he wished it or not.

\-----


	4. Chapter 4

Loki was alone when he woke the next morning, the sheets where Thor had lain gone cold. He twisted to look at the windows, and saw that the sun was already high in the sky, closer to noon than to dawn. Even counting his waking in the middle of the night, he had slept the clock round, and more. He could have slept longer.

Carefully stretching his stiff muscles, Loki sat up, looking around the room. Thor's armor was gone from the stand by the wardrobe, his discarded clothing of the night before missing from the floor and couch. The trousers Loki had been given had likewise been retrieved from where he'd kicked them into the corner. They were laid over another chair across the room, along with another small pile of clothing. It unnerved him, that he had lain here so deeply asleep that he hadn't even roused to the movements of the servants cleaning the room. Equally unnerving that the servants had apparently worked while he, the slave, had slept sound in the master's bed.

At least they wouldn't question that he wasn't fulfilling his duty.

The clothes left for him were good ones, plain but not coarse. He did, after all, belong to the King. There were two pairs of trousers and three tunics, all woven from cotton; smallclothes; and a plain braided belt. No shoes, of course. The tunics were sleeveless, tied at the shoulders so he could put them on despite the chains connecting his hands. Clever. Sobering as well, that Thor felt the need to provide him with clothes that would adapt around the manacles.

Loki washed in the basin and dressed in his new clothes, not quite ready to challenge his status to the extent of making use of Thor's bath. His hand rasped over stubble as he cleaned his face, another annoyance that his magic usually took care of. He found Thor's razor in a cabinet and carefully shaved himself, taking equal care to focus his gaze only on the places where he was drawing the sharpened blade over his skin. It was only when he had wiped the last of the soap from his face that he dared fully confront himself in the mirror for the first time.

It was...worse than he'd thought. He knew his cut hair had been meant to debase him, to humiliate him and make him seem less than he was in the eyes of the court. What Loki hadn't imagined, though, was that it would actually make him ugly. He wasn't oblivious to his looks, knew that he was considered attractive, if not precisely handsome. He had never lacked for partners in romance or sex and had always chosen from his fair share of admirers. Or once had.

He looked misshapen, somehow, bones and skin and ears and nose not quite fitting together, all thrown into chaos with only the sickly pale stubble-covered skin to frame them. It didn't even look like his own face to him, not really. Loki reached up and touched his own cheek, felt his fingers trail along his new-shaven jaw and saw it mirrored in his reflection. Real enough.

This was who he was now. A slave. Beneath notice. Dull and invisible in his undyed cotton clothing, his cropped head denying him even the identity of the color of his hair, his feet bare so his comings and goings would not disturb his betters.

Loki lowered his head from the mirror, fists clenched on the counter. He did, of course, bear one extraordinary mark, a special gift that the other slaves of Asgard lacked. The gold shackles pressed into the flesh of his wrists, the edges of them chafing his bared skin after only a single day. What would it be like after weeks? Or years? Would he just become accustomed to their weight, to carrying around the cold, dead metal until he no longer even noticed?

Or would the chains kill him first?

He forced himself to look in the mirror again. That was what was missing, he realized. Not anything as superficial as his hair, or meaningless as mere physical features. It wasn't even the lack of his magic. There was something wrong with _him_.

This time, Loki touched the face in the mirror, tracing over the shape of an eyebrow, the line of an ear. His hand didn't quite seem to connect, wavering off in odd directions as if following instructions from another pair of eyes. On an impulse, he grabbed a pot of salve from the cabinet, dipping his finger in and drawing the lines again, letting his hand follow whatever that other image might be. He drew purposely without looking at the whole, concentrating on each stroke, each line, until at last his reflection in the mirror was traced over with smudges of yellowish grease. When Loki was done, he blinked at the face before him for a long moment, slowly resolving the puzzle of lines and shapes on top of his mirrored features. When he realized what he was seeing, he was so startled the jar of salve fell from his hand and smashed on the floor. The face of a Frost Giant gazed back at him, grotesquely smeared over his own in streaks of yellow.

Loki turned and snatched up the cloth he'd used to dry his face, scrubbing at the mirror until the image was gone, the features and markings blurred into nothing more than a greasy stain. He was breathing hard when he stopped, his heart thumping in his chest as he stared at the smeared glass. The room behind him was now distorted as well, the marbled walls rippled and unfocused. It disturbed him for some reason he couldn't place. Loki picked up the cloth again and wiped until all traces of the salve were gone, until the mirror once again cast a perfect reflection.

His hands shook as he threw the cloth into the hamper. Loki turned to go, wanting nothing more than to flee the memory of the monstrous face in the mirror. Then he saw the jar of salve broken on the floor, its contents splattered on the front of the countertop. He had just reminded himself to get a servant in to clear it away, then it came to him, sudden and shocking as a bucket of cold water. It was he who was now the servant. The one who would be called to clean sticky puddles of salve from the floor when their masters clumsily dropped them.

He would have to play this role, too. Just as he smiled to Thor and spread his legs and moaned in feigned desire for him, just as he knelt before the court and accepted his sentence, he would have to become this as well.

Loki had let his own brother rape him last night. There seemed little point in clinging to his pride over getting on his knees to scrub a floor.

He was just kneeling to clean up the shattered jar when he heard Thor in the outer room, calling his name. Loki drew breath to answer, but before he could call out Thor was pushing through in to the bathing room, still wearing his court armor.

"There you are," he said. "I had wondered if you were going to sleep the day away." He spied the mess on the floor, and frowned. "What happened?"

"An accident," Loki said. "I dropped a jar of salve, that's all."

Thor nodded, apparently satisfied, and also unaware that there was anything at all unusual in seeing a man who, the day before, had been a Prince of Asgard down on hands and knees with a cleaning cloth. "I have some food for us," he said. "When you're finished with that, come to the outer room. There are things we need to discuss."

\-----

The food was a platter of fruits and cheeses, simple but plentiful. Loki sat at the place Thor waved him to, and helped himself. He was starving, having slept through breakfast, and he fell to without hesitation.

"We haven't spoken of what you will do as my servant," Thor finally said. "You can't stay within my rooms forever." He spread his hands. "You will live here, of course. You'll be responsible for making sure the other servants do their jobs in here, and there will be times when you'll be expected to wait upon me in public."

"I am familiar enough with the expectations of my station," Loki said. _Although most of the expectations of this particular station involve being in your rooms,_ he didn't add. He looked at his cup, slowly turning the stem in his hand. "I believe it is also the custom for the King's slave to attend him at the High Table," he said evenly. "If not always, then with some frequency. The Aesir will wonder if I'm not seen there." If he wasn't put on display. Wasn't publicly humiliated for their satisfaction.

"True enough," Thor agreed. "But that will be only on feast days, when I need someone to keep my cup filled."

"And kneel by your chair when not otherwise occupied."

Thor passed his hand over his beard. "We've been over this, Loki. Not all parts of your punishment will spare your dignity."

It was hard for Loki to bite back his anger at that, to ask what parts, exactly, left him any dignity at all. Was it dignified to walk around in chains, dressed a slave? To bend over for your own brother? To face death as the alternative?

But Loki made himself swallow the words. "And here?" He gestured around the room. "In your rooms? Do I serve you when we are alone? Do I kneel and call you 'my King'?"

"Not when we are alone."

"But when others are here," Loki guessed, "it will be otherwise."

"Yes." Thor breathed in deep. "It must be so, even with Sif, and Hogun and Fandral and Volstagg and others who were our friends. Your sentence must be carried out in front of all."

"And when you are not here. When I must go about on my errands. What is the deference I must make to the other Aesir? What orders must I obey?"

Thor's jaw tightened. "You know what deference is owed, Loki. Do not test your limits on this. The punishment for insolence begins with ten lashes, and I won't be able to spare you."

"And my orders?" Loki pursued recklessly. "You have given me no guidance here, Thor."

"You are at no-one's command but mine," Thor said. He reached over the table, and caught up Loki's hand. It was the first time Thor had touched him today, and it occurred to Loki to wonder why. Perhaps his brother was not finding it so easy to adjust to their new positions, now that he, too, must play the role of master over his own brother. "The court must see that you belong to me, and me alone. I said you follow such orders as I see fit. As of yet I have found none fit enough."

A small part of the tension Loki carried eased. As a slave, he could be commanded by any citizen of higher rank, which meant everyone who was not themselves a slave. Even servants could order him around. But if his service was bound only to Thor, then he could at least refuse to be the errand-boy for the entire court. "Very well," he said, then remembered to say, "Thank you," even if the words tasted like ash in his mouth.

\-----

Thor left soon afterwards, saying that he had a meeting with a delegation of the Vanir, and that he would be bringing them back to his own rooms for a private council. It wasn't said aloud, but Loki understood nonetheless that the meeting was to be a trial of sorts, to introduce him to the notion of his status. As well as to display him to representatives of yet another realm that had an interest in his punishment.

By the time Thor returned, Loki had eaten nearly everything on the platter Thor had provided, leaving only the fuzzy-skinned green fruits from Aelfheim that gave him headaches and two pieces of cheese that had mold on the bottom. He was, in fact, reaching for the knife to pare away the mold when the door opened.

Thor appeared first, but when Loki saw that he was not alone he rose to his feet. "My King," he greeted him, putting his fist to his shoulder and bowing from the waist. This was apparently not enough courtesy for at least one of the men who accompanied his brother. No surprise there; Njord had never been overfond of Loki. The other two men were not particular friends or enemies of his, but Loki saw how they looked him over, gazes traveling without care for subtlety up and down his body, and then glancing over at Thor. _Why, yes, he took me in the ass last night,_ Loki was tempted to say. _Would you like to inspect the orifice in question to make sure I've been suitably violated?_

"Loki," Thor greeted him, with no sign of having noticed the looks or scowls from the other men. "Be so good as to tell the kitchen to sent up food and drink for us. With plenty of mead," he added, grinning at the others.

"At once, my King," Loki answered, hesitating only a moment. He picked up the platter from the center of the table and left the room.

His eagerness to be away from the other men carried him through the door, but even as he crossed the threshold he knew that he was only trading one confrontation for another. There was, however, one advantage to being raised a Prince in this palace, to having run and played and explored every inch of these halls. Loki not only knew where the kitchens were--a test he was sure many of his fellow Aesir would have failed--he knew which of the halls that led to them were least traveled. He also knew which were reserved for the likes of him.

Time to play this role. It took surprisingly little effort. Head down, feet dragging, shoulders slumped. Just another slave now. Loki had often himself used this principle to disguise himself, the knowledge that no-one ever paid attention to servants and slaves. The right manner, the right posture, and he could practically make himself invisible. Especially if the court wasn't quite expecting to see him running such a mundane errand the day after his sentence had been pronounced.

It nearly worked.

Loki had passed through the main corridors outside Thor's chambers, skirting the more crowded areas around the Great Hall, and had just started down the steps toward the servants' entrance when he was hailed.

"You!"

For a moment, he dared to believe that the call wasn't addressed to him. But there were very few others in the passage, all of them Aesir, and it was unthinkable that they would be called "You!" by anyone, much less a fellow noble. Loki did not dwell on the thought that less than two days ago, the same would have been true for him as well. Gripping the platter tightly, Loki turned to face whoever it was that had called to him, schooling his face to be blank. It was only at the last moment that he remembered to keep his gaze on the ground.

"Yes, my lord?" The phrase slipped out without any effort on his part, just the role he was playing. But sweat was prickling between his shoulder blades, and he was acutely aware of his careful crafted invisibility being stripped away.

"By all the gods. It is you, Loki." The man laughed, and it wasn't a pleasant one. He wasn't someone Loki even recognized. "How the mighty have fallen." He reached out and flicked at the platter with his finger. "Running errands?"

In truth, this man had no right to question him. No right to stop a servant of the King of Asgard and interfere with his duties. Loki owed him nothing. They both knew this.

But it did not change the fact that Loki could do nothing about it. They both knew this as well.

 _This_ was to be his life, Loki realized. Not only servicing his brother, or cleaning messes on the bathroom floor, or kneeling in front of the entire court on feast days. This. Submitting to the petty whims of men and women who before would not have been fit to serve at his table. Knowing that they had no real power over him, but knowing that he was even more powerless to stop them from doing whatever they wanted to him.

And yet, he had one weapon left, the weapon Thor had given him back when he'd taken away the gag the day before. Come what may, Loki still had his words. 

"Yes, my lord," he answered. Then he added, "I pray you will excuse me to continue my business for the King."

"Oh, of course. But aren't you forgetting something? Slave?"

Loki knew what he wanted. For one hot, blazing moment, he thought about refusing. Slamming the heavy plate into the man's face, kicking his legs from beneath him to leave him sprawled on the floor at _his_ feet. But it would change nothing. So Loki bent his knees, lowering himself until he knelt on the floor before the other man. "I'm sorry, my lord," he said, and surprised even himself at how quiet his voice was, how level and sincere.

It apparently surprised the other Aesir as well. But it only took him a few seconds to recover. "I guess you had to learn to get on your knees pretty quickly, didn't you?"

This time, Loki held his tongue. In the war of words, there were times when only silence could win the battle. His silence was now a stone wall, without crack or seam. Give the man no purchase, and he could not dig a way in. So Loki waited, kneeling on the stone floor, letting the silence--and the stares from the other Aesir--grow around them. But there was nothing less interesting than quiet subservience, even from one so known for rebellion and mischief as him. Finally, the other man sniffed and turned away, waving a hand in dismissal.

It took longer than Loki would have liked to admit to get to his feet again. He felt light-headed, the sweat on his body turned icy. He wanted to go into the nearest room, lock the door and hide and do his best to forget that he had just gone to his knees for a nameless Aesir lordling, someone who probably wasn't even ranked high enough to sit within the Great Hall during feast days. But he couldn't. Thor was waiting, and waiting with a group of Vanir who would be watching for any mistake, any leniency on Thor's part.

In any case, he had best get used to kneeling to petty lordlings and ladies, and to members of the higher court. To servants. To everyone.

\-----


	5. Chapter 5

It had not taken any great thought to determine how to approach the servants in the kitchen. Loki knew better than expect sympathy and camaraderie from his new fellows, but he also knew that he could easily turn them against him with but one high-handed order. They might not be his allies, those who had once served him and could be harboring any number of--possibly justified--grudges and slights. But he still had wits enough to realize that he could not afford to make any more enemies. Not if he hoped to emerge with his skin intact.

The woman at the buttery window was a stranger, no great surprise since it had been many years, centuries even, since he had needed to cozen the kitchen maids for treats. She was tall and fair-haired, with dark eyes and laugh-lines around her mouth, though she wasn't smiling now. Loki saw from her expression that she recognized him, and also that she was not entirely pleased to see him. Still, she did not slam the shutter in his face, or pretend not to see him.

Loki approached her with his expression blank, careful to keep his gaze down. "Good afternoon, Mistress," he said. "I am here to ask for food and drink for his Majesty and three guests, to be sent to his rooms. He has also asked for extra mead, if you would be so kind." He lifted the platter, and slid it over the counter. "He will also need another platter of cheese and fruit for his table."

For a long moment, she stared at him. "I know who you are," she said.

"I thought as much, Mistress."

She drummed her fingers on the countertop. "Mistress Ragnve," she said at last.

"Mistress Ragnve," Loki repeated.

"Two days ago, you would not have spoken to me with such respect," she said abruptly. "Why should I trust your courtesies now?"

"Two days ago, I was not a slave, Mistress Ragnve." Loki raised his hands, showing off his bindings. "Certain realities have become clear to me. One of which is who truly has the power to make my new station the most difficult."

Ragnve appeared to think this over, but her expression didn't alter. "You never gave much care before as to who might suffer for your mischief."

Loki saw no point in answering this, especially to deny it. After a moment, Ragnve went on. "You come to me with politeness out of self-interest, thrall."

There was no point in denying that, either. "I do, Mistress. Can you blame me for it?"

Ragnve turned away, and made several notes on a tablet at her elbow. She pushed it over the counter to him. "Make your mark there," she said briskly. "I'll get some pitchers of mead now. The rest will be sent soon."

"Thank you, Mistress Ragnve."

That had gone far better than he had hoped. So much so that Loki was careful to read each item on the tablet before pressing his thumb next to the list, signifying that the tally was correct. He handed the tablet back to Ragnve as she returned, bearing a tray with three pitchers of mead and four cups. She took a metal disk from a box on the counter and slid it into the top of the tablet, pressed a button, then handed the disk to Loki.

"When your master's food is brought," she told him, "it is your responsibility to see that all is as your master wishes. If you are satisfied, give this tally-piece to your master to make his mark, then return it here when you come next. If something is amiss, give the tally-piece to the servant un-marked and they will come to me." She glanced at Loki's neck, then turned and reached for something on the wall next to to the open window. It was a thin lanyard, made of braided leather with a sturdy brass clip on the end. She took the disk back from Loki, clipped it to the lanyard, then returned the whole thing to him. "Wear that inside your tunic. If you lose your tally-pieces, the penalty is one stroke for every mark's worth of goods unaccounted-for."

Slowly, Loki took the lanyard and hung it around his neck, tucking it inside his tunic. "Thank you, Mistress Ragnve," he said. "You have been most helpful." He paused, considering his next words carefully. "I am grateful."

She sniffed. "Call it my self-interest. I have no time to waste watching new slaves fumble about."

"Nonetheless." Loki gave her a bow of his head, no more than was appropriate from his station to hers, but a bow. "Good day to you, Mistress Ragnve." He pulled the tray of mead to him and lifted it. It was unexpectedly heavy, his arms already aching and tired even so soon after waking, but he had little choice but to find a way to carry back to Thor's chambers. He turned to go.

"Loki."

It was the first time she had called him by name. Loki turned back. "Yes, Mistress Ragnve?"

She was looking at him thoughtfully. "I said you did not care who suffered for your mischief."

"You did, Mistress."

"You did not care, whether they be commoner _or_ King." She suddenly grinned, her teeth wide and white in her weathered face. "You have balls of brass, Loki Laufeyson. I would not see you stumble over something so petty as a tally-piece." She waved her hand. "Now go. Don't keep your master waiting."

He dared to return a fraction of her smile before bowing again. "Mistress."

Loki left the kitchens in better spirits than he had arrived. It didn't last long, but it was something to carry his steps through the long passage back to the upper halls of the palace. Even so, he was exhausted by the time he reached the top of the narrow staircase that opened onto the more public corridors. He was in real danger of dropping the tray of mead, an absurd prospect for someone who once could--and had--carried a horse back and forth across the Rainbow Bridge to win a bet.

He had no choice but to stop at the top of the steps and rest, the tray put aside on the landing and his arms hanging down between his knees. His hands were cold and shaking, and he felt the ache in his arms creeping into his shoulders and back. He had been awake for only a few hours, and already he felt as though he could go back to bed and sleep for another day.

It was getting worse. Whatever bindings had been put on the chains, whatever magic had been forged into the metal itself, the spells were determined to suck every drop of power out of him. He wouldn't have thought there was anything left to drain out of him by now, but the now-constant chill shivers of weakness through his limbs proved otherwise. Surely it had to stop at some point, had to reach a limit to what the spells were allowed to take from him. But so far, that limit didn't seem to have been passed. And Loki seemed to be getting weaker by the hour.

Finally, when he heard other steps approaching from below, Loki pushed himself to his feet, his knees trembling shamefully, and picked up the tray. It wouldn't do to be caught shirking, not on his very first day. He slipped into the corridor before the unknown servant, whoever they were, came into view, and set off down the hallway, moving as swiftly as he dared.

The remainder of the journey was without incident. It wasn't long before Loki was pressing his palm to the lock on Thor's quarters and hoping Thor had thought to have it keyed to him. Apparently his new status as Thor's servant had been recognized--that, or his old one as Prince had never been revoked, a frightening thought--for the door slid open smoothly at his touch.

The Vanir and Thor were seated around the fire pit, talking easily. As Loki had said to Thor, he was familiar with the expectations of his new station. Had he not himself been one of the gathered lords often enough, seated at his ease waiting for a servant to put a cup of mead or wine into his hand? He served Thor first, using the gold cup provided with the tray. Thor actually looked a bit startled as he accepted the mead, as if he'd forgotten Loki was there until his cup was in his hand.

"Thank you, Loki," he said.

"My King," Loki answered, and bowed to him before going around to serve the others in order of their rank. This meant that Njord was the next to be served. Loki suspected that Njord would have liked nothing better than to find some fault with the service or the offered mead. Or even to dash the contents of the offered cup in Loki's face. But Loki was careful to present Njord's mead to him with all due deference, and to suggest that the drink offered by the host was disliked or inadequate would be a grave breach of manners. Throwing mead on a slave was not, as far as Loki was aware, any cause for censure, but as it was the equivalent of spilling it deliberately on any of Thor's other possessions, Loki felt that he was fairly safe from that particular indignity. Njord made do with a curled lip and look of scorn as he took the cup.

When the others had been served, Loki put the pitchers at the ends of the table, where the lords could reach them if they wanted to refill their own cups. After that was done, he had no other orders to follow, no other protocols to obey.

None save one.

He didn't allow himself to hesitate. The Vanir would be watching him, and Loki was damned if he'd give them the satisfaction of seeing him flinch. Without a word, Loki dropped to his knees by Thor's left side, bowing his head and folding his chained hands in his lap. He couldn't deny that it was something of a relief to be off his feet.

A sudden silence fell over the room. Loki had no doubts that he was the cause of it, so he kept his head down, gaze fixed firmly on his own hands. It was Njord who finally spoke. "So, you truly expect us to believe this farce?" he spat out, and Loki saw his feet shift from the corner of his eye, as if he leaned forward. "That you would enslave your own brother? That even Loki would agree to this over a clean death?"

Thor did not move from his easy sprawl. "You doubt my word, Njord?" he said, and despite the ease of his posture Loki heard the dangerous rumble in his voice. "It was sworn and spoken before the court of the Aesir, with Gungnir in my hand and Mjolnir at my side. And was it not five minutes ago that you argued that Loki did not merit the justice of Asgard, since he was not my brother?" Thor shifted, and Loki fought to remain still as his hand settled on the back of Loki's neck, heavy and powerful. "Either I am a liar, or not. Either he is my brother, or not. And in any case, I think you should choose your words more wisely in future, Njord."

There was a long, tense silence. "I meant no offense, Thor. You must understand that I was surprised to hear that Loki had been found at all. We all thought him dead."

Thor's hand squeezed gently on Loki's neck. "Not so, as you can see. And when my father returns from his long journey, I would not have him learn that Loki was found, only to die with his blood on my hands."

"So you think your father would approve of this?" This was from Muli. Loki did not know him well, but what he remembered of him was that he was thoughtful, a methodical fighter rather than a fierce one. If he was asking the question, it was likely a question that was on many lips. Loki could hardly deny that he, too, was interested to hear Thor's answer.

"It does not matter if he approves or not. I am the ruler of Asgard now. But, yes, I think he would understand." Not "approve," Loki noticed, and wondered if Muli had also taken heed of the omission.

"He would understand that you have caused your own brother to be called _sansordinn_?" That was Njord again, proving once more that consistency and logic were not among his strengths. But the word struck Loki cold. It was no more than he had thought himself, but Njord had laid his humiliation bare, speaking the insult in front of him in the sure knowledge that Loki would not--could not--so much as open his mouth in protest. He face burned, but he forced himself to breathe evenly, in and then out, to show Njord nothing. _Nothing_.

"Njord." Until now, Ulfvaldr had not spoken, which Loki had thought wise of him. It had been his own way as well, to let the others have their say until they either came to the conclusion he wanted or hung themselves with the rope he gave them. Even in the midst of his own quiet fury, Loki couldn't deny there was some satisfaction that Njord appeared to have done the latter. "You are like a dog with a bone, and you overstep your bounds. Thor shares no blood with Loki. You know this."

"Odin has never disclaimed Loki," Njord fired back, and Loki felt the words like another blow. "Foster kinship is still kinship. To Odin, Loki is still an heir, a son, and therefore still brother to Thor. To order him dishonored is disgraceful."

This was news to Loki. True, he had never asked, but he had not imagined any circumstance under which Odin would not, at the very least, have disowned him. It made him feel a little ill, that Thor had not bothered to impart that small piece of information. But then, it wasn't exactly in Thor's interests to have Loki seen as his brother, was it? Loki swallowed the cold anger that swelled in his belly, forcing himself to kneel quiet and still under Thor's hand.

For his part, Thor seemed content to let the Vanir shout this out among themselves. And why not? It was not he who was being called coward, and weak, willing to offer up his ass for any man who wanted it. The worst Thor was being accused of was not preventing Loki from being shamed. Which was true, but as a legal criticism it was so ridiculous that even Loki wouldn't have argued it.

"Odin is no longer ruler," Ulfvaldr was saying. "And Thor disowned Loki as his brother when he made him a slave. Slaves cannot rule, or claim kinship by fosterage. You know this very well, Njord. You only protest because you dislike Loki, and would rather have seen him killed outright."

"Or because you would rather it was yourself who had the chance to dishonor him," Muli added, making only a cursory effort to lower his voice. Njord would have thrown himself at him, snarling, if Ulfvaldr had not stood in his way.

"My lords!" Ulfvaldr shouted. "Are we not here to meet with our ally Thor, to re-affirm our ties of friendship and trust? To show our support because Asgard has captured a man who could have destroyed us, who has already tried to conquer or annihilate three of the Nine Realms? We are not here to quibble over King Thor's rulership, or make insult." Ulfvaldr's cloak fanned by Loki's face as he spun around to face his ruler. "Njord. My lord," he said, with the kind of level tact that seemed to require expression through gritted teeth. Loki was well familiar with it. "Perhaps you would care to clarify the meaning of your previous words to King Thor."

Long moments passed before Njord cleared his throat. "I meant no disrespect to your rule, Thor," he said at last. "I can understand that you would want to honor your father's wishes, and yet find a fitting punishment for that one's crimes. It is indeed just."

"Your apology is accepted, Njord," Thor said immediately, and his hand stroked the back of the Loki's neck. "Another round of mead, to seal our friendship!"

That was Loki's cue. He rose and began to refill the cups, knowing that his subservience was just as much a peace offering to Njord as the mead itself. It burned, but even as he poured he had to admit that it was a skilled gesture. Were it not his own person being used as the tool, he could have admired Thor's skills as a diplomat.

Loki had just finished filling Thor's cup again, the first having been drained in a toast to Njord, when the chime at the outer door rang. Loki set down the pitcher and went to answer it. As he expected, it was a group of servants bearing the food he had ordered from the kitchens, and he inspected each tray before allowing them through to where the delegation sat. The servants laid out the platters on the table, and Loki took the tray of fruits for the breakfast table and carried it over himself. After dismissing the servants back the kitchen, he filled a plate for Thor and presented it to him, then knelt back down at his side.

To his relief, the conversation had moved on from his own punishment to other matters. There were signs of new dealings between the Dwarves and the Dark Elves, according to Muli. Trinkets of Dwarf metal and Dark Elf craftsmanship were turning up in the markets of Vanaheim in increasing numbers. Njord saw it as an omen of a secret pact between the two. Ulfvaldr was of the opinion that, in the face of all logic, the Dark Elves might just be trading with the Dwarves because of the high quality of their goods.

Loki would have been interested to hear Thor's thoughts, but the next thing he knew he was starting awake to the touch of Thor's hand on his head. "A farewell toast," Thor was saying, and Loki pushed himself to his feet to obey. It was difficult to tell how much time had passed, but the ruins of the meal and the darkness outside suggested that he had dozed off some time ago. How he had remained upright and not revealed his inattention by toppling over was a mystery.

A sudden surge of vertigo came over him as he stood, darkness sweeping over his vision even as he took his first step to the table. It passed within a moment, so quick that none of the others even took note of it, but it left Loki feeling dizzy and slightly sick. He had to lift the mead pitcher with both hands, and nearly slopped the first stream over the edge of Thor's cup. Thor gave him a sharp look, brows furrowed with what might have been concern, but there was no way for him to say anything. Loki took extra care with the other men, then went around re-filling their cups as they were emptied until the mead was gone.

When the final toast had been drunk, the Vanir finally stood and began to take their leave. Loki retreated to the sideboard with the empty pitchers and waited for them to go, keeping his head down while he watched from under his lashes. Njord cast him several dark looks as he left, his eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he said nothing, and the other two didn't so much as spare him a single glance. Then the door was closing behind them, and Loki could breathe. His first test was over. And unless he was very much mistaken, he had passed it. _Congratulations_ , he thought wryly. _You have proved yourself an excellent slave. Who would have thought Loki would have such skills?_

Now that they were gone, it was like the lifting of a weight. Loki had not even been aware of the tension he had held in his body until it drained away, leaving him hollow and exhausted from the strain of maintaining the facade. He hadn't quite appreciated the constant vigilance that would be required by his role in the presence of others. It was difficult enough to play his part with Thor, but when he had to add on the perfect subservience expected of a lowly slave, he wondered how he could possibly crush himself down small enough to fit.

Thor came back to the meeting area with a broad grin on his face, his cheeks flushed with drink and merriment. "That went well, I think," he said. "Njord was pleased enough with our agreement, in the end."

"Your agreement?"

Thor frowned. "Were you not listening? He is sending an envoy within the week to discuss the defenses. The old goat hasn't so much as lifted a rusted sword to our benefit in years. If we can get him to send some tribute in warriors, then at least Asgard will not be carrying the defense of Vanaheim on our shoulders alone."

"Oh." That was indeed something of a concession, one that Odin had never managed to wring from Njord in many long sessions of debate. "My attention must have wandered. I apologize."

"No matter." Thor smiled again, then came closer. "Are you tired so soon, Loki? You look pale, and I saw how your hand shook."

"I am a little weary," Loki admitted. It crossed his mind, then and there, to say something about the binding chains, about how they drained him, made him feel far more weak and sick than they should. But as soon as he thought it, he dismissed the idea. No matter how ill he might feel, it was too soon. He could not have Thor think for a moment that he was angling for favors, and asking for the release of his magic could not be seen as anything but self-serving. "I must not have slept as well as I thought," he said instead.

"Then call the servants to clear away the food, and go rest." Thor was already moving to pick up his cloak from the back of the bench. "I must meet with the Warriors Three, and then I will eat in the Great Hall. You will have time to rest."

"Wait." Remembering the tally-piece, Loki pulled it from around his neck, and went to hand it to Thor. "I believe I need your mark on this."

"Oh, yes." Thor pressed it carelessly, and dropped it back into Loki's hand. "Tell the buttery-maid to give you an account for yourself, as well. You will need to eat when I'm not here, after all."

Loki was, in fact, starving again, but the thought of trudging all the way down to the kitchens for a meal was too much. There was plenty of food left on the table; he would eat his fill before calling the other servants to clear away the remains.

Thor draped his cloak around his shoulders, then came over to give Loki an unexpected kiss. Loki barely had time to realize his intent, and closed his eyes as Thor's bearded lips rasped over his cheek. Loki was so exhausted that it was tempting to just stand there passively until Thor was finished, but that wouldn't do. Thor seemed intent on being rather more amorous than his farewell of the day before, so Loki opened his mouth obediently to the press of Thor's lips. Thor's breath was sour with mead and his mouth tasted of heavy spiced meats. His tongue slid past Loki's teeth, wet and slimy, and it was all Loki could do to not gag on it. He forced himself to return the kiss as best he could, and finally Thor pulled away, smiling. "I shall see you after dinner," he said. His tone was a promise of more than just his presence, and Loki felt his skin crawl with dread.

When Thor was gone, Loki made a meal of their leavings, then pressed the button to summon the cleaning servants. He had to wait to let them in, and then out again, and by the time they were finished he could hardly keep his own eyes open. He knew he should probably prepare himself again. But he was simply too tired, and he ached all over. Let Thor have him dry, for all he cared. Loki staggered into the bedchamber, fell face-first onto the bed, and plunged into sleep.

\-----

(TBC)


	6. Chapter 6

Loki woke the next morning wrapped naked in Thor's arms, his head pillowed somewhat awkwardly on Thor's massive bicep. Thor was snoring peacefully behind him, his breath puffing against the back of Loki's head. They were snugged up together back-to-front, Loki's backside fitted into the curve of Thor's hips, and he could feel the hard length of Thor's erection pressing between his buttocks. Loki had a moment of anxiety, wondering if Thor had taken him last night and he simply didn't remember. But there was no new feeling of soreness in his ass, no sensation of oil or semen or any other fluid. It seemed as though Thor had returned and gone to sleep with him without bothering to wake him. Although how he'd gotten Loki undressed was something of a mystery.

Thor's arms were uncomfortable, tight and stifling. But the risk of waking him up and having to deal with the stiff cock poking his back wasn't worth it. Let Thor sleep, and perhaps it would be too late to have sex by the time he woke.

This was, unfortunately, not the case. Thor roused from sleep within the hour, and began to place bristly kisses along Loki's shoulder as his hand caressed his hip. "Good morning," he said.

"Good morning." Loki tried to make himself relax into the embrace, putting a hand on Thor's to lace their fingers together. "Why did you not wake me last night?"

Thor's breath huffed in his ear. "I tried. You were dead to the world." He pressed his lips to Loki's shoulder. "So I merely put you to bed."

"I was already in bed," Loki reminded him.

"You were on the bed," Thor corrected. "Not quite the same." He rubbed over Loki's side. "I was worried, brother. You don't often sleep so deeply."

"As I said, I was tired."

The caress grew more intimate, Thor's fingers sweeping down to cup the soft length of Loki's cock. "Are you tired now?"

Loki rolled over, and forced a smile. "Of course not."

It was not as difficult, this time. Thor was already aroused, so Loki had little trouble persuading him to dispense with most of the foreplay. When Thor rose to fetch the oil from the bathing room, Loki stretched out on his stomach, spreading his legs wide offer himself in a comfortable position. Thor seemed happy enough to do all the work of preparing him, so all Loki had to do was lie there and pretend to enjoy the slippery prod of Thor's fingers. It still hurt when Thor spread him on his cock, and he stayed soft and shrunken while Thor found a hard, steady rhythm. But he didn't have to try to return any kisses or touches, and it was easy enough to pant and moan and grimace while Thor pounded away on top of him.

It still took a long time. Loki was getting sore by the time Thor finally grunted and spent himself. Loki had tucked a hand under his own body to feign the motions of pulling on his cock, and he used the cover of Thor's orgasm to fake his own.

Thor didn't linger as long, thankfully, pulling out after only a few minutes. He leaned down to kiss Loki's shoulder, then got up from the bed. "Come join me in the bathing room, when you are ready," he said, and left.

Despite Loki's wish to simply lie where he was and not think about what had just happened, the thought of soaking clean was a powerful lure. Besides, he was not foolish enough to presume that "when you are ready" meant "when you can bear the thought of your brother touching you again." In which case, he would have preferred to never have joined Thor at all.

Slowly, Loki rolled over and stood up. Normally he found the messy aftermath of sex a somewhat pleasant reminder of pleasure given and received, no great chore to clean away. Now it only caused him to grimace in disgust as he stood up, feeling the mess smeared on his thighs and still dripping from his ass. He took a moment to call for the servants to come tidy the bedroom, not wanting to confront the dirtied sheets when they came out of the bath. Then he steeled himself and went into the bath chamber.

Thor was cleaning his teeth at the basin, the bathing pool behind him filling with water. Knowing what was expected, Loki laid out towels, soap, sponges, brushes and combs, and tested the water to make sure it was not too hot or too cold. He cleaned himself with a surreptitious use of a wet cloth, then joined Thor at the counter.

Someone had added another set of toiletries to the cabinet, presumably for his use, and he cleaned his own teeth while Thor inspected his beard in the mirror. It was on the tip of Loki's tongue to ask Thor if he was thinking of shaving it off at last, a long-standing tease whenever he caught his brother admiring his hairy face. But the flood of memory that came with those words was something Loki didn't want to release.

Instead, Loki merely reached for the second razor that had been put in the cabinet and added it to the row on the pool's shelf, for his own use. Thor turned away from the mirror and walked down the steps into the pool, seating himself on the lowest ledge and leaning his head back against the smooth curve of the marble side. He let out a blissful sigh as he sank into the hot water, the ends of his hair floating free. Loki tidied off the counter, and went to join him.

The water felt good, warm against his skin. Loki let himself sink into it in his turn, closing his eyes and drifting for a moment. The bath actually eased the cold ache from the chains, a little, and the water lifted him up so that he didn't feel as though carrying around his own body was such a chore. It was quite nice, and Loki allowed himself the pleasure of a few minutes soaking before before wading over to Thor and picking up the soap and sponge.

Thor opened an eye as Loki soaped up the sponge, but didn't comment. This was one of the things they hadn't discussed out loud, whether Loki's duties extended to the bathing room, but Loki chose to presume that Thor hadn't asked him to join him in order for Loki to sit on the edge of the pool and watch. And the more useful he was, the less the other servants would have to say about how little he was actually doing.

He began at Thor's arms, swiping the soapy sponge over the strong muscles, then moved over his shoulders and down his chest. Thor nearly purred at the attention, relaxing into the scrub of the sponge like a big cat. He dunked himself obediently when Loki pushed on his shoulder, then moved to a shallow ledge so Loki could get to the rest of him, back and legs and feet. He didn't spare his genitals, and pretended to be amused when Thor's cock swelled under his soap-slick hand. It occurred to Loki that it wouldn't be an entirely bad idea to bring Thor off right now with his hands, or even his mouth. It might spare him being taken for a night, and would do no harm to his role as concubine. But when he tightened and deepened the strokes of his fist, Thor only allowed it for a few moments before covering Loki's hand with his and pulling it away.

"Not now," he said, and pulled Loki into a slippery embrace, his hand wandering down to squeeze at his ass. Thor kissed him, sloppy and open-mouthed, roused by Loki's touch. Loki returned it as best he could, mimicking the probe of Thor's tongue in his mouth and then taking in a relieved breath when Thor began trailing kisses down his neck. The damp scrape of his beard was like sandpaper, and Loki winced as Thor's chin rasped over a nipple, the skin so sensitive it was almost nauseating, feeling the shocks of unwanted sensation as the bristles stroked back and forth.

Finally, Thor pulled back, and to Loki's surprise took up the sponge himself. He started with Loki's chest, rubbing in slow, firm circles, then began to wash the rest of him. It should have felt good, the warm water and slick soap, Thor's strong hands scrubbing at his tired muscles. But even this utilitarian touch left Loki tense, wondering when it would become sexual again, when Thor's hands would move back to his ass and his cock, when he might want Loki to touch him in return.

But it didn't happen. Thor did linger on Loki's cock and balls, soaping them with his bare hands and giving his length a few gentle tugs, but he didn't press the matter when Loki failed to respond. Instead, he soaped up the stubble on Loki's head, had him dunk under the water to rinse, then laid back while Loki undertook the rather more lengthy task of washing Thor's hair. It was, almost, quite innocent.

Afterwards, when they were both clean and Loki had shaved, Loki sat on the steps of the pool and combed out Thor's hair. This, at least, was very familiar. Thor refused to braid his hair up for even the most dangerous--and potentially messy--of adventures, and it was always Loki whom he begged to wash and comb his hair for him afterwards. Loki would tell him it was his hair, he should either do it himself or cut it off--not a little irony there--but in the end he would always relent. As Thor knew he would.

It was a good memory, and Loki let himself indulge in it as he ran the comb through Thor's hair. It reminded him of the times when they truly were brothers, when after adventures or hunts they would bathe together in whatever springs or lakes were available, often as not dissecting each other's contribution to the previous adventure. It made the act of arranging Thor's hair pleasantly intimate, recalling the closeness they used to share. The closeness that having sex with him was destroying. So Loki focused on the task before him, the motions of lifting the smooth locks and spreading them on Thor's shoulders soothing and calming, a call back to a time he knew would never return.

Lost in his own thoughts, Loki was startled when Thor's hand caught at his wrist, stopping the steady motion of the comb through his hair. "Loki," Thor said. "What's wrong?"

"What do you mean?"

Thor let go of his hand, and Loki saw how the comb shook in it, the tremble from his tired arms making it impossible for him to hold it steady. He was getting so used to the constant exhaustion he had barely noticed it. "I'm tired," he said simply, the frequent lie rolling easily off his tongue.

Thor pushed away, turning to face Loki where they sat at the edge of the bath. "You have just woken," he pointed out.

Loki shrugged. "I did not sleep well."

Thor searched Loki's face. "You do not look well," he said. "And I have slept next to you these last two nights, and watched you in your rest between. Apart from your dream that first night, you seem to have slept deeply, and you have eaten well. You should not be like this." Thor reached between them, and wrapped his hands around the manacles. "On the journey here, from the bridge, you showed me these when I asked what was wrong. I did not believe you. Should I have?"

For a moment, Loki hardly dared breathe. He hadn't risked telling Thor himself, knew he couldn't put his fragile position in jeopardy so soon. But now Thor was asking.

He had to play this very carefully. "They bind my magic," he said at last. "But I think they are taking more. I feel--I can feel them sapping my strength. All the time. What you said before, about the cure being the thing I most want, that's true. I know you can't release my magic powers. But these..." He lifted up the chains, feeling the heavy drag of them. "There must be another way."

Thor reached up and touched Loki's face, cupping his cheek in his palm. "I will ask the keepers of the archives, to see if there is anything else to be done." He leaned in, and kissed him on the mouth, thankfully no more than a press of lips. "I promised I would keep your safe, Loki. That also means that I do not want to see you hurt."

Loki made himself nod. "I know. Thank you." But even as he bit his tongue on the thought of Thor's idea of safety, he couldn't help feel just a tiny prickle of hope.

\-----

Thor had another private meeting in his rooms, so Loki was once again sent to order the food and drink. He was unhappy to note that Ragnve was not at the buttery window, but it wasn't to be expected that she would be on duty every day. Loki pulled the lanyard from around his neck, and approached the man standing at the window.

"Greetings, Master. I have a request from the King for food for six, to be sent to his rooms. And I am to return this." He handed over the tally-piece from the day before.

The man scowled at him, but he took the piece and dropped it onto the counter. He shoved the tablet across, and pointed. "Make your mark. I'll fill it in."

Loki had had plenty of time to consider the tally system, and how it might be circumvented, and swindled. It took no time at all for him to parse the disadvantages of doing as the man asked. Getting a blank slate from the King's slave would be an invitation to add on goods that would never be received. Goods that would be taken, stripe by stripe, out of Loki's own hide if the scheme were discovered.

"Begging your pardon, but I will be held responsible for the goods I sign for," he told the buttery master, keeping his voice soft and his eyes down. "I will be pleased to wait until you have the time to fill it out."

Even from under his lashes, he saw the man's face flush red. "You'll put your mark on it, and you'll have your master seal the tally when it's brought with the food. That's how it is done."

Loki knew he should go along. Should put his mark to the tablet and keep his mouth shut. Hope that the buttery master knew his business well enough to keep the books balanced and not get caught. But what did the master care if he was caught? It wouldn't be his mark on the ledger, his approval when the goods were delivered. That was assuming that the whole business wasn't meant to send Loki to the whipping post in the first place.

He had determined not to make new enemies. This did not mean he had suffer needlessly under the ones he already had.

Loki drew in a careful breath, aware of the bustle behind the window, the guards lounging in the corners of the hallway. "I received different instructions yesterday, Master."

"I'm giving you new ones."

Loki's jaw ached, it was clamped so hard on the words he wanted to say. It took several moments before he could manage more civil ones. "Then I am clearly confused. Perhaps I should speak to the Master Supplier, so I will understand better."

The blow took Loki off guard. It shouldn't have. He had seen that the man was becoming enraged, and slapping a slave was of no more consequence that calling a greeting or shaking a man's hand. Loki wiped the blood from his lip, and his hand shook with more than weariness. He shouldn't be this angry. This was nothing, a petty argument over petty thievery from a petty little servant. He had knelt at the feet of other lords yesterday, poured mead for men who called him whore and worse, had spread his legs for his own brother. This shouldn't be any more difficult than that to endure.

But this was different. This fool was going to get Loki whipped for his own incompetent greed. He could suffer for his own mistakes, could endure humiliation if it would let him play his role. But to debase himself knowing that he would only be punished for it?

No.

It was like a weight being lifted from his shoulders. Glorious and freeing and wild, even if he knew what he would pay at the end. But he would pay the price of his own making, and not by bowing to another. Loki lifted his head, and bared his teeth at the buttery master. "If you wish to steal from the King's table," he snarled, "then at least have the brains to do it competently. Or the wits to offer me a decent bribe," he added.

"I'll bribe you with your own skin," the master said. "And teach you not to cross me, thrall." He picked up Loki's tally-piece from the day before, and slotted it into the tablet. A press of a button, and he pulled it out and dropped it in the box of blanks that Ragnve had taken it from. "That's thirty-three marks of good unaccounted for. And thirty-three strokes I'm going to lay across your back."

Loki lunged for him without even thinking. He was already going to be whipped anyway. What was twenty more, or forty more? Someone snatched at his arm, and he flung his elbow back by reflex, whirling to kick the guard's feet out from under him as he staggered back, blood pouring from his nose. Another man came at him, another guard. Loki spun his chains out, wrapping the man's own arm, and yanked him close to deliver a hard knee to his ribs, then another to his face as he went down.

But then the third guard wrapped his arms around him from behind, and to his shame Loki found it difficult to break free, his strength spent on the first two men. Then more guards arrived, and together they overpowered him. He was forced to his knees, then on his face, their boots digging into his back and shoulders. Yet Loki's face hurt from the grin stretched across it, the blood in his head singing from having let himself be free, even for one moment.

The buttery master came up beside him, and Loki heard him spit before the warm saliva splattered over his neck. "There's your bribe," he said, then kicked Loki in the side. "When I'm finished with you, maybe you'll think about doing as you're told." He stepped back. "Take him out to the yard."

The guards dragged Loki into the kitchen yard, nothing more than a small cobbled square. Its main purpose, it seemed, was to house the tall whipping post that stood in the center. The guards stripped him naked before tying him up, easy enough with the clever ties that made him able to undress still wearing his chains. They didn't even leave him his smallclothes. Nothing would do but the full public spectacle, but he no longer cared. There wasn't much of an audience, just the guards and the buttery master and a few stray servants. Some of them scuttled away as soon as they realized what was happening. Some stayed to watch.

The chains made a handy means to secure him to the post. All the guards had to do was throw the links over the hooks, and he was held fast, helpless, his arms stretched high above his head. Loki leaned his forehead against the rough wood, his blood still pounding in his ears from rage even as he panted in exhilaration. He knew he'd broken the facade, destroyed his role as humble servant, but he didn't care. He would crawl and bow and beg and kneel, but he had shown that he would not be used. He'd take a hundred lashes before he would submit to that.

The first stroke across his back was like a trail of fire, hard and stinging. It took his breath, making him gasp into the sun-warmed wood of the post. _Go on,_ he thought, _punish me all you want. Tomorrow I will be beaten and bloodied, but you will still be a fool._ He breathed into the pain as the next strokes fell, leaning his weight against the post. He'd lost count already, too angry for such a simple task. Not that it mattered. He had no idea how many he'd ended up earning.

Loki began to lose his footing after the twenty or so blows, pain and shock setting in as blood began to trickle down his sides. He should have been able to take much more than this, but he was becoming resigned to his weakened state. Passing out was somewhat of a respite, and he found himself jerking back to consciousness from blackouts more and more often as the beating went on, his body hanging slack from the chains.

Then it was done. Someone held him up under his arms, another freed his hands, and he was allowed to collapse on the cobbles of the yard. The first thing he did was vomit, heaving onto the cobbles while he crouched on hands and knees, blood running down his legs. They were telling him to get up, but instead he was sick again, bringing up more thin bile and blood from his bitten tongue. The edges of the yard were graying out, everything narrowing down to a tunnel of his hands and the stones and the boots of the guard who was crouched in front of him. Then all that went away, too.

\-----


	7. Chapter 7

Loki's vision was of Muspelheim, the realm of fire. He stood at the edge of a great chasm, watching the fires boil up from the depths. He could feel the heat touch him like a live thing, rolling over his skin, but he wasn't burned. Instead, it was as if he floated in a lake of warmth, buoyed up by the superheated gas from the chasm. It was quite pleasant, in fact. He could stay here.

A roar from behind him reminded him of why it wasn't wise to linger in Muspelheim, no matter how comfortable the environment might be. Loki whirled, instinctively flinging up his hands, and saw before him a pair of fire demons, huge and angry. They flung themselves at him with no other warning. Loki blasted the first with a wave of pure magic, sending it tumbling backward. But the second was too quick, and before Loki could aim another spell it was on him, grappling and scratching. He rolled away, trying to get out from under its claws, but it brought its hand down in a vicious swipe across his back, ripping through armor and cloth and skin. The pain was incredible, as if the claws had set his skin on fire. Loki screamed, unable to move, and the demon struck again. And again. He was being torn to pieces, burned alive. He was dying.

\-----

"The fever has broken. He should heal well enough now."

"He hasn't woken. Not for days."

"He will."

\-----

Now Loki's vision took him to Niflheim, to the steep bank of one of the frozen rivers that snaked over the frozen landscape. There was no welcoming heat here, and the cold bit into the skin exposed by the tattered rags of his coat. Blood dripped and froze down his fingers, and the cuts from the fire-demon's claws ached and throbbed. He turned, more wary this time, searching for enemies in the blowing snow. He seemed to be alone.

For lack of anything better to do, Loki began to walk along the bank, his boots slipping on the slick ice. His fingers were already growing numb, and his ears and nose as well. He could not survive long here.

He trod on a patch of ice, lost his footing, and plunged down the slope to the river. He landed hard on his back on the frozen stream, sliding several yards before he could dig his boots in to stop himself. It felt like he had scraped a layer of skin off his back, then almost immediately felt as if that skin had frozen solid to the riverbed. Loki rolled over with a gasp, curling up around the fresh new pain, shivering violently as the cold soaked into his bones. First fire, now ice. He hoped there were no more extremes to be had.

\-----

"But he's not fit for travel, my Lady."

"I do not believe the King asked _if_ he were ready. The King asked for him to _be_ ready. See to it."

"Yes, my Lady."

\-----

The next vision was a dream. The Rainbow Bridge stretched out before Loki, straight and wide and sparkling in the starlight. He felt very hot, and tired, and his skin ached as if it had been stretched too tight over his bones. But he could feel the wind in his face, cooling the sweat on his brow.

When Loki turned his head, there was a horse, galloping next to him, the Lady Sif riding it with her hair streaming behind her. He was on a horse, too, but not riding. He seemed to be strangely weightless, floating with the motions of the horse beneath him but not quite part of it. It wasn't entirely unpleasant.

Loki blinked. When he opened his eyes again, the Bridge was fading away, washed out in swirls of gold. Too bad.

It had been a good dream.

\-----

The next dream...was not a dream. Or if it was, it was a nightmare, a terror of flashing sparks and noise and bone-aching vibration that set Loki's teeth on edge. He struggled, trying to sit up, but strong hands fastened on his shoulders, gentle but firm.

"Easy, Loki. It is almost done." Thor's voice, speaking just over his head. Everything was strangely distorted, as if he were hearing Thor from a great distance, or from under water or glass.

Then another voice spoke, one he thought he would likely never hear again. "Hey, at least we know it's working."

"Stark." Loki tried to get up again, but Thor's hands clamped down harder.

"Lie still. It will only be another moment."

\-----

The next time Loki woke, he was lying on a bed in a Midgard prison cell. His back ached terribly and he felt weak and spent. But he also felt as though he could breathe, for the first time in days.

Cautiously, Loki sat up. The room did look like a cell, but his bed was like the ones in the medical facility, tall and wheeled with metal bars along the sides. There were tubes running into his hands, like the ones they had used to feed him before, and he couldn't help but feel his jaw for the gag to make sure that he wasn't dreaming again of his last imprisonment. Or, worse, that he had just woken from an extraordinary delusion and had never left this wretched place at all.

But his exploring fingers met nothing but his own skin, rough with at least a week's worth of stubble. Another pass of his palm over his scalp revealed that his hair, too, was still in the shorn state it had been when he last remembered. But he was now dressed in one of the cotton shifts the Midgard mortals put on their sick. Even the light cloth felt harsh against the tender skin on his back, and the reminder of his whipping convinced him at last that he was not suffering from delirium or visions.

So, he was back on Midgard. It troubled Loki that he had no memory of returning, and troubled him even more that he seemed to have little knowledge of what had happened after he lost consciousness at the whipping post. By dint of twisting himself around to look at the backs of his legs, he could see that the whip-marks had healed, only the swollen red lines of the worst scars remaining. How long would it have taken for his weakened body to have repaired itself to this stage? A week at least, if his bristly jaw was any indication, though that seemed over-long.

It took Loki another moment to realize that one important thing was missing. The metal cuffs were still locked around his wrists, but the heavy connecting chain was gone. He could see where the links had been sheared off and filed down, but the chain had been taken away. Slowly, Loki lifted his arms, marveling at the new lightness, realizing that it was not only due to the absence of the physical weight. He still felt weary, drained and tired, but the weakness didn't crawl down to his bones as it had before. This was more the aftermath of an illness, the recovery and not the long dragging exhaustion of the sickness itself.

Before he could explore this phenomenon any further, the door mechanism clicked. Loki dropped his arms to his lap, tensing at the sound, knowing it meant that he would not be alone much longer. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, not wishing to be helpless on his back, and slid to his feet as the door itself opened. The first person to enter was Tony Stark, which did nothing to reassure him, but right behind him was Thor. Perhaps not entirely reassuring, given what he was to Thor now, but Thor had also promised to protect Loki. That was more than a small comfort. Stark had every reason in the Nine Realms to want him dead, but Loki was at least secure in the knowledge that Thor would defend him with his own life, slave or not. Still, he could not help but regard Stark warily as he approached, pulling a cart full of Midgard technology behind him.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," Stark greeted him, and came towards him. Loki stepped back, relieved to find that his legs seemed inclined to support him, and retreated around the bed to put it between him and Stark. It was less than dignified, given that he was still tethered to the bags of fluid hanging at the head of the bed, but no one laughed. Stark stopped, putting his hands up in a gesture of peace. "Whoa, there, big fella. No need to run away."

"That remains to be seen," Loki said to him. He looked at Thor. "Why am I here? What has happened?"

"Sticking to the basics," Stark said, before Thor could answer. "That's good, I like the classics."

Thor, thankfully, ignored him. "You are in Tony Stark's tower," Thor told him. "You have been very ill."

Loki absorbed this for a moment. "For how long?"

"You have been ill more than a fortnight," Thor said. "You have been here for five days."

It was a shock, to hear that he had lost so much time, twice as much as he had guessed. There had been a few strange dreams, of lying sick and fevered, but he could not have imagined that it had been so long. Even so, another obvious question came to Loki's mind. "And why did you? What was wrong with our own healers, on Asgard?"

"They could not discover the source of your illness." Thor hesitated. "You would not wake, for days after the beating. Even when your wounds began to heal." Thor gestured to Loki's arms. "You had told me that your binding chains were making you weak. I thought that if anyone could discover another solution, it would be Stark."

Loki raised his arms, displaying the cuffs. "Not as yet, it seems."

"Not so fast, Coma Boy," Stark said. "You'll notice you're missing about fifteen pounds off those. Feel any different?"

As much as it pained him, Loki could not deny what he already observed for himself. "Yes," he admitted. "A little. My magic is still blocked from me, but I do not feel as weak."

"Yeah, well, that would be because the metal in those chains was poisoning you. Is still poisoning you, actually," Stark added judiciously, "just not enough to kill you. Anymore."

"That's impossible," Loki told him. "These chains have been used to bind sorcerers for millennia without damaging them. That's rather the point." Thor looked pained as Loki said this, and Loki turned his attention to him. "You have something to add, Thor?"

Thor looked as if he would rather have done almost anything but answer. "It is your Jotunn blood, Loki," he said gently. "It makes you sensitive to the metal in the chains. More so than an Aesir sorcerer."

Of course. Loki kept his expression schooled to blankness, but he could feel himself grow pale, and cursed the lack of control he had over his own body. "I see," he said, tamping down the roil of panic at the thought of what his Jotunn blood could be doing to him. "And is there a cure for this?"

"We're working on it," Stark said. "We've got a big pile of metal links to experiment on, and five days worth of full body scans from you to figure out what makes you tick."

"And why," Loki asked, turning to Stark, "would you be so eager to do this favor for my brother?"

"Hey, I've got a vested interest in seeing you locked out of your magic. Granted, I don't have much interest in keeping you alive, but I can throw that in as a favor for my buddy Thor."

"That is most generous of you."

"I thought so." Stark snapped his fingers and pointed to the bed. "Speaking of favors, how about you hop up there and let me get a couple of readings."

Loki looked over at Thor, who nodded to him. Keeping a careful eye on Stark, Loki edged back around to the side of the bed where the rails were lowered and sat down cautiously, keeping his weight on the edge of the mattress. Stark rummaged in a bin under the cart he had brought and pulled out a handheld device, a scanner of some kind. He reached for Loki's arm, and Loki flinched away before he could stop himself, yanking his wrist from Stark's grasp.

"Jumpy, aren't you," Stark said, and held out his hand. "Come on. Gimme. I've done this a hundred times while you were passed out in here. I swear it won't hurt a bit."

Angry at his own squeamishness, Loki thrust his arm back, letting Stark run his scanner over the manacle cuffs, and then over his chest, head, back and stomach. Let him run his useless tests, see if he could do better than thousands of years of Asgard scholarship.

When he had finished, Stark looked at the readings, and made a displeased noise. Thor spoke up from his corner.

"What news?"

"Not good news." Stark opened up the computer on the cart, and began typing in data from the scanner. "Toxicity level is still going up. It's going up a hell of a lot slower, I'll grant you that, but give it another few years and he'll be right back where he was when you brought him here." Stark made adjustments to the scanner, then shook his head. "Insulation isn't working, either. All the test patches show the same saturation as the control. Catch 22. The metal has to be close to affect his powers, and once it's close enough to work it poisons him no matter what's in the way."

"And how do you know it's working at all?" Loki couldn't resist asking.

Stark flashed his teeth at Loki. Loki couldn't quite call it a smile. "Apart from you not having torn this place apart and escaped, last time you were our guest we got quite a bit of data on the frequencies you use for your little tricks. When we tested the metal those chains are made of, we found out it emits a strong field that disrupts exactly those frequencies."

"And is also, apparently, poisonous."

"To you," Stark pointed out. "The trick is going to be figuring out how much of the stuff you can tolerate without it being fatal over time, but also how much needs to be on you to keep you leashed." He showed his teeth again. "Should be fun."

Loki bared his own grin in return. "I look forward to the opportunity to test those boundaries."

"Yeah. I'm sure you do." Stark returned his tool to the box, and pushed the cart back to the door. "I'm going to go down to the lab," he said to Thor, "crunch some of these new numbers and see what comes out. I'll leave you to babysit Little Brother here."

"Thank you, Stark," Thor told him. "I will not forget your efforts on my brother's behalf."

"Like I said, it's enlightened self-interest. If I build a better Trickster-trap, I know he's out of the way." Tony clapped Thor on the shoulder, and departed.

Left alone with Thor, Loki pushed himself up onto the bed, folding his legs under him tailer-fashion. "What have you told them?"

Thor looked startled. "What do you mean?"

"About my sentence. My status."

"I have told the truth, Loki," Thor said quietly. "That you have been stripped of your powers and station, and made a slave of the Asgard court."

Loki waited. "And they found this acceptable? Adequate?"

Thor shrugged. "They were unhappy with the sentence of slavery, at first. There are strong taboos in their culture against the ownership of other humans for any reason."

Loki had gathered as much during his own time on Midgard, so he could hardly be surprised. "But they were presumably persuaded."

"I explained to them that the court and the other Realms would expect you to be executed, or exiled from Asgard without your powers or our protection and thus left open to capture or assassination from every Realm. They accepted then that your enslavement was a just alternative to death."

Loki could not argue the logic, seeing that it was the same that he had agreed to himself in becoming Thor's slave. "So they no doubt expect all due deference from me."

"No. You will show them respect, and courtesy, but they expect no more."

Of course not. They were mortals. But he was glad that Thor did not seem inclined to order him to bow and kneel to them. That might have been a more difficult test than bending his neck to a fool such as Njord.

"The Lady Sif is here," Thor went on. "She is tasked as your personal guard while you are here."

Ah. That explained at least part of his dream of the Rainbow Bridge, if indeed it had been a dream at all. "And what grants me such an honor?"

Thor actually looked startled at the question. "You are my personal slave, Loki, and there are many in this Realm who would gladly see you dead," Thor reminded, as if Loki needed it. "You are powerless, and you have been sick. I promised to protect you." He hesitated. "On that subject, I would like to discuss the incident in the buttery. I have heard from Master Kalfr--"

"Who?"

"He was the master who had you beaten, Loki," Thor said reprovingly, as though Loki should have known this.

"Ah. Do go on, Thor."

"As I said, I heard from him and the guards about what happened, but now I wish to hear it from you."

"Comparing our stories?" Loki asked.

"Yes," Thor said bluntly, but not unkindly. "He claimed that you lost a tally-piece, and that you were insolent to him when questioned about it."

Loki considered. "That is certainly a free interpretation of the events as I remember them," he told Thor dryly. He then outlined for him Kalfr's demand that he mark a blank slate for him and Kalfr's subsequent blanking of the tally-piece he had returned.

"After that, I confess that I did become quite insolent," Loki told Thor. "I was already going to be beaten. I saw no point in submitting any further to that idiot's orders."

Thor rubbed a hand over his chin. "It does not surprise me overmuch that Kalfr--or any of the buttery masters--have their own tricks and schemes. But it does surprise me that you took such offense, Loki. I recall that you yourself had your own ways of getting around restrictions placed on you."

Loki felt himself bristle. "Let me remind you, my lord King--" He used the title as a weapon, gratified to see Thor nearly flinch under the cold lash of it. "--that it was not Kalfr who would be held responsible should his little 'tricks' be discovered. He knew nothing of me, and yet he expected me to be his scapegoat just because I was a slave and he was not. I cared not if he robbed the kitchen blind. But I refused to put my own skin at risk for a fool such as he."

At that, Thor's expression softened. "My apologies, Loki," he said after a moment, and reached for Loki's hand. "I see now why you reacted as you did. And Kalfr will be punished for the erasure of the tally-piece. But the strokes for your insolence were justified."

"I know that," Loki snapped at him. "I am not a fool, Thor. I knew what I was doing."

"Of course." Thor lifted his hand, as if he were going to kiss it, then appeared to change his mind and lowered it instead to Loki's own lap, patting the back of it gently as he let him go. "I'll leave you to your rest now," he said. "The physicians here say you are mending quickly now, but they told me I must leave you soon and let you sleep."

Loki was, for once, not in the least bit tired, but the prospect of being alone, free from Thor's attentions and the need to feign his own reciprocation, was more than enough to make him keep that piece of information to himself. "Very well," he said instead, placing a slight note of reluctance in his voice. "I suppose I shall see you tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow." Thor smiled, and rose. "Good night, Loki."

\-----

The next several days passed not unlike the first few hours. Loki stayed in the cell, alternately sleeping and being incredibly bored. From time to time Stark or Banner or both together would come and wave their machines at him and mutter to their computers, then go away.

Thor visited also, usually at the beginning and the end of the day, but to Loki's--disguised--relief his visits were usually short-lived. He explained, with some delight, that he had been invited to aid the other Avengers in their battles and that he had been making appearances with each of the team to ensure the citizens of Midgard that they remained safe and protected.

"From me, I presume," Loki couldn't help observing, and Thor had frowned.

"Do you deny it?" he answered. "Your Chitauri allies wrought great destruction, Loki, and you were their most visible agent. It has been pointed out to me that having the brother of their most recent enemy showing solidarity with the other Avengers is a good thing. If it helps to mend the wounds you left here, then I am glad to do it."

Loki drew his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his shins. "And if they knew that you brought me here to be cured? To have the cleverest minds of their mortal understanding wholly preoccupied on the problem of containing my magic without harming me? What then?"

Thor's scowl deepened. "I don't understand you, Loki. This is for your benefit, and yet you rail against everything done for you. Would you rather return to Asgard now and die slowly?"

It took, perhaps, several seconds too long for Loki to say, "Of course not," but if Thor noticed the lapse he did not remark on it. "But I fear that you rely too much on the goodwill of these new allies," Loki went on. "They may be well-disposed to you, but me they do not love, and would likely not weep at my death. I only ask that you take care."

Thor smiled. "Have no worries on that, Loki. I have made it clear that my goodwill depends on your continued good health while you are their guest. I swore to protect you, remember?"

That promise was much on Loki's mind, these days. It was not lost on him that he had been put within the bounds of Midgard law, and apparently their laws forbade such things as slavery. He had no doubt that they forbade such things as rape as well, and he had every confidence that he could persuade them of the dire need in his situation and convince them to take him away from Thor.

There was merit in the idea. A Midgard prison would be much easier to escape from, more so since he doubted he would be under such close attention as he received from Thor. They would wish to treat him with kindness and delicacy after his ordeal at Thor's hands. He could use that as well.

But that was only if he could rely upon them to follow their own laws. SHIELD had shown that they cared little for the letter of Midgard law, that they acted as they saw fit regardless of which protocols might be broken. It was a trait Loki could hardly criticize, but it would not work in his favor. Nick Fury had stood before him and threatened his life while Loki was his prisoner, and Fury had proven that he was not a man to make idle threats. Loki did not suppose that Coulson's death would make him any more well-disposed. Even if Fury was not inclined to involve himself directly, Barton would be eager for revenge, as would the others he'd enthralled and fought against. Once Loki was outside of Thor's direct protection, Fury would only need to be lax in his vigilance to accomplish Loki's death.

The crux, again. Death, or slavery. He seemed to be continually faced with the choice.

Loki closed his eyes. He imagined the alternative to death, the cell he was in becoming his home, year after year. That Stark and Banner and other Midgard scientists did, in fact, find a way to effectively contain him so he could not escape. So effective that he was no longer a threat, and Fury had no need to kill him outright. He would simply be left here to rot, all the long years of his life.

Loki shivered. No.

No, despite the humiliation of his slavery, and the gut-churning horror of sharing Thor's bed, he was still better off with his own people--no, not with his own people, with the Aesir, he reminded himself harshly. With Thor. Thor might be blindly oblivious to the fact that he was raping his brother and calling it seduction, but he had sworn to protect Loki. If Loki were going to choose to live, then remaining with Thor was the surest way to do so. Everything else could be endured, and negotiated, and--given time--outlasted.

When Thor was absent, Loki's grim thoughts were often interrupted by the Lady Sif. He could not say that her visits were welcome. While he appreciated the respite from the inward spiral of his own increasing despair, her presence meant that he was obliged once more to don the persona of the humble slave, to bow his head and defer and hold his tongue. His only comfort was that, if Sif felt any discomfiture on her part, she kept it well-hidden, treating their changed status as perfectly normal. He hated her and liked her for it in equal measure.

Sif had taken it upon herself since his first day to bring in his meals to him--those that were not delivered by Thor, that is--and she waited by the door while he ate. He wondered how the other Avengers felt about her clear implication that his food might be poisoned, but he could not fault her diligence and thanked her politely.

"My lord King has charged me with your safety," she answered. "I would not fail him."

"Of course not, Lady Sif. Nonetheless, I thank you." Loki finished his meal and pushed the tray aside. "I also thank you for providing adequate fare. These mortals eat no more than a sickly child."

Sif's mouth twisted. "So I have seen. Stark took us to one of their eating establishments two nights past. The piece of beef I was served was no more than a mouthful, and when they brought a bottle of wine, it had to be meted out among the entire table in goblets that barely wet the throat. Have they not heard of casks?"

"I think not, Lady Sif. Except for beer, and their casks are not used for High Tables."

She snorted. "Let us not begin the discussion of the watered-down horse piss they call 'beer.'"

Despite everything, Loki could not hide the curl at the corners of his mouth, and he bowed his head further in pretense of tidying the leavings on his tray. After a time, however, Lady Sif spoke again.

"Have a care, Loki," she said suddenly, as if the words burst forth from a place long-contained.

"My lady?"

"I am well-known as the King's loyal companion," she said, "but I am not the King himself. Words come to my ears that do not reach his."

Loki saw his own hands tighten on the edges of the metal tray. "What words would those be, my lady?"

"Not all are pleased with your sentence, Loki." She paused. "That is to say, not all are satisfied with the truth of it. I have heard whispers that you manipulate the King with your wiles, that you ensnare him with your magic and your body--"

The tray collapsed, abruptly crumpling in Loki's fists as his fingers tightened beyond his control. He stared down at the dripping ruin for a long moment, stunned that he had misjudged his own strength. That he had so much strength returned to him.

"When I was beaten, my lady," he said, carefully placing the twisted metal on the table, "I had been Thor's slave for a little more than two days. I am flattered at their assessment of my skills of persuasion."

"You know that is not what I mean." Sif crossed the room and stood before him, putting her hand under his chin to lift his gaze the small distance to hers. "There is talk that the judgment itself was a farce, that you had twisted Thor's mind to spare you and make him lust for you." Loki was certain that his face revealed nothing, but that very blankness was probably telling to one such as Sif. Sure enough, after regarding him for another moment she nodded brusquely, and let him go.

"So," she said. "I would have you know that some do not believe in your acquiescence to these terms."

"They insult my intelligence," Loki responded, "if they suppose that my clever scheme was to have myself bound and enslaved." He bowed deeply to her. "I thank you for your words, Lady Sif. My lord King is often overly optimistic about the degree to which a ruler's pronouncements are agreeable to all."

"Even so."

When Loki straightened, Sif took the remains of the tray and made for the door to his cell. "Good day, Loki."

"Good day, Lady Sif."

\-----

(TBC)


	8. Chapter 8

Loki gathered that progress was being made on the matter of his restraints, but he was still surprised when Stark entered his room one day with a small mass of metal coiled in his hand and announced, "So, this is the prototype."

Loki regarded the contraption dubiously as Stark tossed it into his lap. "Go on, take a look," Stark urged him, taking notes on the tablet he held in his hands.

Gingerly, Loki picked up the fragile-seeming mass of metal and crystal, spreading it over his knee. It was made of two solid circles of metal, the two together smaller around than his littlest finger. They were joined by seven delicate helixes of chain and crystal, the crystals glowing familiar green and blue. It was too small for a collar, possibly meant as an anklet, but there was no clasp or opening. There wouldn't be. Presumably it would be cut open and welded shut around his body.

"These are Tesseract crystals," Loki said after a moment, inspecting the depths of the blue crystals carefully.

"Can't get anything past you. Gamma crystals, too. We've tuned them to resonate on about eighty-five percent of the same frequencies as the radiation field coming off those chains you were wearing, enough to boost the natural properties of the metal to the degree that we can get by with just trace amounts. The ratio we've come up with should, in theory, do the same job of blocking your powers, but without the bonus poisonous side effects. You're welcome."

Loki shook out the anklet, making the crystals chime. "Thank you for making my slavery prettier. I will be the envy of the court ladies."

"Yeah, well, they can also envy you not keeling over dead in five years."

"You presume that I should be grateful for that," Loki snapped at him, and it was only after the words were spoken that he realized he may have tipped his hand too far.

"Huh." For the first time, Stark lowered his tablet and looked directly at him. "That's an interesting thing to say." He did not elaborate, merely continued to stare cooly at Loki, as if daring him to let it lie.

Loki made himself to respond casually, not too quickly. "You can hardly expect me to be joyful at being more efficiently stripped of my powers."

"That's not what you said, though," Stark said, equally casual. "You were being all disappointed that I'd found a way of saving your life. That's different."

"You misunderstood me."

Stark regarded him for a long moment, his dark eyes unreadable. "Must have," he said at last. He nodded at the anklet. "The metal should bend enough to fit over your foot. Put it on and I'll get some readings now, and again after twenty-four hours. If it works like we expect, then we can start making the real thing."

Loki despised participating in the tests that were meant to restrain his own powers, but he would also much rather be the one to slide the circlet over his foot than have Stark--or anyone else--touch him. The metal proved to be as Stark said, flexible and springy enough to push into an oval, so it was no great feat to work it up over his heel. Unlike the manacles, the metal stayed cold against his skin, and he felt a small vibration from the crystals that rested against the bone of his ankle.

"How does it feel?" Stark asked. "Any pain, numbness, tingling, dry mouth?"

"It's fine," Loki said curtly. "Perform your tests."

"Okey-dokey." Stark did the now-familiar baseline scan, waving his device up and down Loki's body, this time taking care to get additional readings from his feet and wrists. "All done," he said presently, and switched the scanner off. "We'll see how this reacts with the other metal overnight and re-check your toxicity levels in the morning. Until then, sleep tight."

\-----

Truth be told, Loki had slept surprisingly well in his Midgard prison. His bed was comfortable enough, and the annoying clear tubing had been removed on the first day. Once Stark and Banner were finished with their testing, he was left be for the remainder of the night, undisturbed.

He also slept alone, curled in the narrow bed without having to worry about dealing with Thor's affections. It was this last, Loki felt, that accounted for his restful sleep more than anything else. He enjoyed it while he could.

In the morning, Banner came along with Stark to run their tests, and Thor joined them, as he often did. Thor sat on the end of the bed, far enough away not to impede their work, but close enough to touch. Despite his dread of what Thor's presence had come to mean, Loki could not be entirely ungrateful to have him there while he was subjected to the scans and tests of the Midgard scientists. He understood the workings of their science well enough, and saw how it applied to the magical bindings he wore, but Loki still did not trust that Stark and Banner knew enough of magic to truly understand what they were doing. In their mortal arrogance, they presumed they could use their pathetic knowledge to contain him without hurting him, but Loki was not so trusting. Thor, at least, could be relied upon to listen to him if he protested.

This morning, however, the verdict seemed to please both the Midgardians. "Looks good," Banner said to Stark, leaning close to peer through his lenses at the screen before him. "No increase in the toxins, and the entire field is stronger by more than twenty-eight percent. We'll need more long-term data on the toxin, but if we reduce the volume this much it shouldn't be a problem."

"Hmm." Stark reached out and tapped the screen, then at the keyboard. "Projections on four points are okay, but not quite as good as we'd hoped. Let's look at five..."

Loki's bed shifted as Thor sidled closer to him, leaving the other two men to their discussion. "How are you feeling, Loki?"

Loki glanced over at him. "I am better," he said truthfully, and hesitated. "Thank you for paying heed to me. When I told you about the effects of the chains on me. Apparently you saved my life."

"I would not have had to, had Kalfr not been such an idiot," Thor said. He sighed and dragged a hand over his face. "You realize that I cannot have him as severely punished as he deserves."

Loki glanced over again, startled that Thor would even think so. "I know. You have said as much. And I have told you already that I knew the price of my own insolence."

"All the same." Thor breathed deep, and reached out to put a hand on Loki's shoulder. "I am angry that he caused you hurt, and that he was foolish and arrogant enough to think it was nothing to bring harm to you. This is exactly what I wished to avoid, Loki. I hope you know this."

"I do." Carefully, Loki laid his own hand over Thor's arm, returning the clasp. "But you cannot make me a slave and then protect me from slavery, Thor."

"Would that I could. And I hope that I still can."

Loki shook his head, sighing. "I have told you many times, Thor. Being King is more than merely thumping Gungnir on the ground and saying 'it shall be thus.' I know that you wish to protect me. I am grateful that you spared my life." _And would the words ever not turn to ash and choke in his throat?_ "But perhaps this is a conversation best left to another time, when other matters have been resolved." And when Thor's mortal friends were not there to add commentary on how Loki should be punished.

Stark and Banner left, eventually, taking their equipment with them. They left the anklet behind, saying that they wanted to leave it for "further testing" while they refined their designs. Loki had contemplated removing it the night before, more than once, but had recognized the impulse as merely a childish reflex, a desire to be contrary merely for the sake of contrariness. It was, after all, in his best interests to give them data that was as accurate as possible, so they could find a way for Thor to be able to justify keeping him alive. Wasn't that the point?

Thor, however, remained behind, and Loki's stomach curled up at being left alone with him. Thor had not yet exercised his sexual rights over him while they had been in Midgard, but Loki suspected that it was only a matter of time. All the same, Thor made no move toward him, merely made himself comfortable on the end of the bed, his booted foot sprawled over the clean sheets.

"If all goes well, we may return to Asgard within a week," Thor said.

"Hm, indeed."

Thor regarded him solemnly. "Director Fury has offered to oversee your incarceration," he said abruptly. "Here, on Earth."

Loki stared, feeling his blood run cold. "He has? And your answer?"

"I told him no, at first, that it was Asgard's right to set your sentence and oversee your punishment. But we spoke long, about many things. About Earth's history, and Asgard's." Thor looked up at the ceiling, not seeming quite comfortable looking Loki in the eye. "Fury feels that our punishment is unjust. He thinks you should be confined here, by SHIELD." Thor paused. "I admit, his arguments were persuasive."

With an effort, Loki made himself sit quietly, did not protest, did not scream at Thor of his oath, of his promise to protect him. "And were you swayed, Thor?"

It took a long time for Thor to answer. "I gave you a choice, Loki, when I brought you back to Asgard, to face the justice of Asgard. But if you were to choose to stay here, to agree to abide by SHIELD's--"

"By mortals?!" Loki spit the words out before he was even aware of saying them. "Agree to have those puling weaklings pass judgment on a Prince of Asgard?" Loki became aware that he was standing, fists clenched, his whole body shaking with rage. "I made my choice before the throne of Asgard, Thor," he said. "Whatever I may have become, slave that I am, I will not be so easily forsworn, and not for the privilege of being judged by a pack of useless primitives!" Loki heard his voice raise nearly to a shout at the last. As much as he had decided for himself already that his best chance of survival was to remain with Thor, he was startled at his own visceral rejection of the idea of submitting to Midgard's--to SHIELD's--justice.

But Thor looked troubled. "They are not useless mortals, Loki," he argued. "These are good people, who have sacrificed much to defend this world."

"So you would cast me off here? Leave me to their mercy?"

"No." Thor's voice was firm, but calm, and Loki was aware that he must appear very upset, for Thor to be using that soothing tone on him, as if he were gentling a nervous animal. "That is not what I meant. I only meant--" Thor broke off, looking away. "Director Fury said much to me on the subject of slavery. It is a hard punishment, and I did swear that I would keep you safe. I would not see you broken, Loki. You are not a slave here. If you wanted to stay, I would find a way to make it happen. To make you free."

"I don't," Loki snapped at him. "I would rather be your slave in Asgard than the most pampered of prisoners here." He was sickeningly aware of how this must sound, that it was only feeding Thor's delusions. But his vehemence was genuine. He truly did not want to be under the power of Fury and his SHIELD, and he would endure his slavery and being Thor's bed-slave if it meant freedom from that.

"Then it will be so," Thor said. He rose slowly from the bed, and came towards Loki, holding his arms out as if to embrace him. Loki was not particularly eager to allow it, but he supposed he could hardly decline. He allowed Thor to wrap him close, and was immensely relieved when Thor took no more liberties than that.

"I must go," Thor said when they parted. "Captain Rogers has asked for my presence again."

"Then you must not keep him waiting." Loki nodded to the door. "I will be fine, Thor."

After Thor left, Loki stretched out on the bed, feeling shaken from the aftermath of his anger, and not a little sickened by what he had agreed to. Again. He loathed his slavery, hated the idea of it and the reality of it and if he thought too much about the years ahead in which he would have to share Thor's bed he wasn't sure how he could endure it. And yet he was forced to choose it for himself, again and again.

The table smashed against the wall before he was aware of it, and the chair followed, ripped easily from where it was bolted to the floor. Loki pounded the legs into the walls until they were twisted and broken, until his hands bled from where the torn metal cut into his palms. He destroyed the chair, then the table, and had begun to tear the bed apart before the door opened and Lady Sif came in, followed by what seemed like a dozen SHIELD guards. Loki didn't care. All he wanted was to smash, and destroy, and hurt.

Sif was yelling at him, trying to hold his arms, but his rage was too great for her to contain. Something sharp and cold struck his thigh, and then again at his shoulder. Loki felt the weakness spread, knew they had drugged him, and it only enraged him more. He howled, wordless with fury, and slammed his elbow back into Sif's face. He heard her grunt, and his arm came back bloody, but she didn't loosen her hold. Instead, she took advantage of the drugs to scissor her legs between his and trip him, twisting them as he went down so that she knelt on his back, his arm pinned up between his shoulders. She was being gentle with him, careful not to really hurt him, and it maddened him. He struggled, but another needle bit into his arm, and moments later his flailing limbs were refusing to obey him. He tried to curse, to make them let him go, but his words came out slurred and broken, and in the next moment he had lost consciousness.

\-----

When Loki next awakened, his first awareness was that he was in a different cell. For a long moment, he didn't quite remember how he knew this, or why it was important. Then he tried to sit up, and the feel of the straps around his arms and legs reminded him of what had happened.

Loki let his head fall back to the bed with a thud, swallowing hard. The rage was gone now, drained away, leaving only a sick kind of weariness in its wake.

He wasn't even sure where the anger had come from. His situation was far from ideal--far from--but a mindless rage was certainly not going to help. And why would the prospect of returning to Asgard and leaving Midgard--the only possible reason he could see to have triggered his outburst--make him so enraged? It wasn't as if he wanted to stay in this wretched world, stuffed into a tiny little cell with his magic throttled out of him for the next few eons. At least on Asgard there was a chance for some improvement in his status, slim though it might be.

"Loki?"

Loki willed himself not to react, but the voice startled him, coming from the dimness behind his head. He tried to turn his head, but the restraints kept him from twisting his body far enough to see into the corner.

"Come over here," he said irritably. "I'm not an owl, to twist my neck backwards."

"Oh, sorry."

As Loki had suspected from the voice, the person was Banner, looking rumpled and sleepy. He was cleaning his glasses on his shirt, and slipped them on as he approached the bed. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

Loki was getting very weary of hearing that question. "Hungry, thirsty, and vexed," he snapped. "When are you going to release me?"

"As soon as we know you're not going to trash any more furniture."

"I have no plans to do so," Loki told him, rather stiffly. "My behavior was an aberration. Release me."

"Um, yeah, not yet." Banner looked around, then pulled over the chair he'd been sitting in and straddled it, propping his arms along the back. "Your adrenaline was still through the roof when we got you restrained," he said. "It took four doses of sedative to take you down."

"I'm a god," Loki reminded him, "not one of your weakling human species."

"Granted. But those darts were designed for the Hulk. You took two before you even got woozy, and you were still putting up a good fight when we got you in here."

"I don't recall."

"I didn't think you would." Banner pushed his chair backward, wheeling over to the table and picking up a folder. He returned to Loki's bedside and opened the folder along the chair back. "Tony and I took some more readings last night, after we got you calmed down. We thought that maybe the new design had messed with your physiology, turned off a receptor, turned on a gland, something. But there's nothing to account for it. Our best guess, then, is that you just flipped out. That's Tony's technical term for it." Banner tossed the folder to the ground. "You want to comment?"

"No, I do not. I hurt no-one, and I did not try to escape. I fail to see the problem. Release me."

"It's not that simple." Banner regarded him for a long moment. "We can't continue working on the new magic suppressors until we're sure that they didn't cause this. Right now, we have no positive evidence that they did, but that's not good enough at this stage, not if we're going to rely on them to keep you from using your magic. I think you can appreciate how bad it would be if something in our new suppressors was causing you to act...erratically."

"And you would be the expert on that, of course."

"Yes," Banner said calmly.

Loki turned away from him, breathing deeply to calm himself. "What do you want of me?" he asked at last.

"I want to know if there was a reason that you lost your temper like that."

Just the question that Loki had been asking himself. "None that I know of," he answered. "My circumstances are obviously not as I would have planned, but I am alive. That is far better than I had hoped for. You must look elsewhere for your answers."

"Huh."

The skepticism in that one utterance made Loki turn to glare at Banner, his own gaze narrowing. "You think that I lie?" he said, cold and angry.

"No," Banner said quickly. "No, I don't. I think you're telling the truth. But you've got to admit that being dumped down from prince to slave is enough to make anyone pissed off."

"I am satisfied with my punishment," Loki growled at him. "It is better than the alternative. Trust me."

"Well, yeah. That's my point. 'Better than death' covers a lot of shitty situations." Banner rose and twirled his chair around, re-seating himself so he could lean back, his legs crossed. "Why did they cut your hair like that?"

Loki could feel his head begin to hurt. Mortals and their questions. "Why is that in the least bit important?"

Banner looked a bit awkward, then shrugged. "You had nice hair. I figured you didn't cut it off yourself. And, well, it was kind of shocking. You looked like someone out of an internment camp, when you got here. It was...jarring."

After a moment, Loki answered. "It was done before my sentence. As an additional humiliation, nothing more. But slaves do not grow their hair long, so it will stay this way."

"Oh. So that's what will set you apart."

"That, and other things. Yes. Have you any other pressing inquiries?"

"As it happens, I do." Banner sat forward again, leaning his arms on his knees. "Thor said he asked you about staying here. As SHIELD's prisoner."

"He did," Loki allowed.

"He said you turned it down."

"That is so."

"Why?"

 _"Must I keep explaining myself?"_ Loki roared, and finally ripped off the straps holding down his arms, frustrated at their confinement. He tore the buckles from his wrists, flinging them away, then sat up in the bed, pushing his hands over his shorn head. "I have made my choice," he snarled. "How many times do I have to make it over before _you will be satisfied?_ "

For a long time, the only sound in the room was his own harsh breathing. It occurred to Loki, belatedly, that shouting and tearing off his bonds in the presence of Banner was not his wisest course of action, but the continued silence suggested that he had not brought forth the man's beast. Then Banner spoke again.

"Tony said that you sounded like you preferred dying."

"Stark is a fool." Loki scrubbed his hands over his face, and lowered them to his lap. There were bandages wrapped around his palms, covering the wounds he had inflicted on himself with the sharp edges of the chair. Loki began to strip them off, impatient. "He expects me to fawn upon him for the privilege of stripping me of my magic. It's a bargain I must make, but that does not mean it isn't...distasteful."

"I don't think he was wrong. I saw the video of what you said. You seem pretty unhappy with what's going on."

"Of course I am!" Loki glared at him. "It's punishment, Banner, not a reward."

"I mean," Banner said quietly, "that maybe it's out of proportion for what you did. For what anyone could ever do. Here, we have limits on how we sentence criminals."

"Oh, of course. Provided your SHIELD keeps their promises and I do not perish in some mishap, I will merely be rendered powerless and confined in a small room until the end of my life. And as you know, Banner, my life will be a very, very long one." Loki curled his lip into a sneer. "How compassionate, to merely be shut away and forgotten."

"We wouldn't hurt you," Banner said.

"You would forget me."

"And that's worse than slavery?"

That brought Loki up short. He thought about it, for a long pensive moment. "Perhaps it is." He wadded up the bloodstained bandages, tossing them carelessly to the foot of the bed. Then he began to undo the straps that held his legs. Banner watched without comment, making no effort to stop him.

"What if I asked you?" he said, once Loki had freed himself.

"Asked me what?"

"If you wanted to stay? If Thor didn't know what answer you gave?"

Loki could only stare at him. "Why should that make a difference?"

Banner shrugged. "I don't know. Does it?"

"You are making no sense, mortal." Loki swung himself off the bed, and walked over to the table. There were several bottles of water there and he opened and drained two of them. "I need food," he said to Banner.

"I'll get you something in a bit," Banner told him. "But answer my question first."

"I would choose the same," Loki said impatiently. "What a ridiculous notion."

"Not really." Banner shifted in his chair, leaning forward. "Thor owns you. He controls you. He has the power of life and death over you. When he asks you something, what else are you going to say but what you think he wants to hear?"

"Thor would let me stay, if I wished," Loki told him.

"I'm sure he would. But you wouldn't tell him that, even if it's what you wanted. Isn't that right?" Banner's voice was quiet, calm. His words were like knives. "That's why you lashed out, because he made you choose again, made you do it all over--"

"SHUT UP!" Loki whirled and threw a punch at Banner's neck, wanting nothing more than to crush that soft, deadly voice. But Banner's own hand was there before his, catching his fist and holding it with strength that wasn't human. Loki backed away at once, gaze flashing to Banner's face. He wondered if there was time to call for the guards, if the beast would kill him before they could come. But there nothing more than a spark of green, and it faded even as Loki watched.

Banner stood up, smoothing his hands down his shirt front. "That's what I thought," he said quietly. "I'll get you something to eat now."

When the door closed behind him, Loki picked up the discarded straps and flung them as far away as he could, sending them clattering against the wall.

Fool.

But he wondered if his bitter thought was directed to Banner, or to himself.

\-----


	9. Chapter 9

As promised, Banner returned with food after a short time, and clearly the mortals had learned what was adequate for a god's needs. There were two large cuts of meat, bread and fruit and vegetables piled generously alongside, and a pitcher of milk and another of fruit juice. No wine, but Loki had resigned himself to the lack.

Banner remained while he ate. He said nothing more, other than to mention that Lady Sif and Thor were both being informed that Loki was awake, and would probably be by to see him. Loki had wondered at Thor's absence, but given Banner's unsubtle interrogation he no longer questioned why Thor had been kept away.

When Loki had eaten and drunk everything put before him, Banner pulled one of the small scanners from his pocket. Loki scowled at him.

"Surely you had ample time to perform your tests while I was bound and unconscious."

"I did, but we need data from you when you're awake, too." Banner gestured to the bed. "Do you mind?"

Loki did, in fact, mind, but he rose and went to sit on the edge of the bed anyway. Banner aimed the device at the ankle band first, then moved the scanner over the rest of his body.

"Thor says that you're a shapeshifter."

"That is correct."

"Do the chains keep you from doing that?"

Loki hesitated, and Banner shot him a look, clearly expecting a deflection, or a lie. The unspoken accusation stiffened his resolve to speak. "I suppose you are aware that this form is not my true one," Loki informed him, knowing that his tone was flat, and cold.

Banner looked surprised. "No, I wasn't." Then he considered. "Actually, I hadn't thought about it until now, but I guess it wouldn't be. So you can alter your form even with the suppression field?"

Loki resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "That is not what I said," he said impatiently. "This is a--" He broke off, unsure how to explain, even to himself, the workings of something that had apparently been instinctive to him since birth. "I was unaware until very recently that this was not my true form. Even when my magic is weak or blocked, I often retain the ability to alter my shape, but even if I cannot shift, I have never reverted to my Jotunn appearance. I don't know if this was instinct, or habit, or a spell cast by the All-father. In any case, these bonds appear to have locked me in this body."

Banner frowned. "So your shifting ability is different from your magic. Interesting." He lifted the scanner. "Could you try to do it now?"

Loki made a face, but complied. He lifted his hands, and willed his fingers to turn to claws, long and sharp and lethal. Unlike when he tried to use his magic, he could feel a sluggish stirring of power, an almost-twitch as if the ability were sleeping deep within him, untapped and waiting to be awakened. But nothing happened. The pale-pink skin of his hands remained smooth and soft, and after a moment Loki lowered them back to his lap.

"Huh." Banner tapped the keys of the scanner, then ran it over Loki again. "That's...interesting." He looked at the figures once more. "It's a really similar wavelength, enough to be damped by a strong suppression field, but it's definitely not the same one as you use for your magic. And I don't think the cuffs we're developing are going to work on it."

Loki felt a chill. He did not need Banner to spell out the implications of this for him. "If that is the case, what will you do?"

Banner glanced at him. "That depends. There's no point putting you in cuffs you can shift out of. But I don't think it will come to that." He rubbed his chin, pacing to the table. "I think we can tweak the field around the actual cuffs," he said after a moment. "Boost those frequencies enough that at least you won't be able to shift the parts of you that are touching them, or are really close. We'll have to run some more numbers, do some more tests--"

A knock at the door interrupted him. Banner slid back the eye-portal, then opened the door. Thor burst in, his face creased in worry, and Sif followed.

"Loki!" Thor crossed the room in two large strides, and took Loki by the arms. "It is good to see you awake, brother! Are you well? What happened?"

"I am well," Loki assured him, and saw, from the corner of his eye, Banner cast a frown at him. Loki frowned back, then returned to Thor. "I would like to leave this place."

"I know." Thor released him, and sat down on the bed next to him. "A few more days."

Loki looked over at Sif, and saw that her face, while mostly healed, still bore the signs of fading bruises. "I apologize for striking you, Lady Sif," he said, and rose from the bed to bow to her.

"You are excused," she returned. "It was part of my duties to keep you from being harmed, and I am prepared to endure far more than a broken face. Even if it is only to keep you from harming yourself," she added.

"Nonetheless." Loki bowed again. "Thank you."

Thor touched his arm again. "But why did you do it, Loki?" he asked. "You seemed well enough when we parted, and then within minutes you went mad. Can you not tell me why?"

Loki looked at Banner. "May I speak to my brother in private?"

Banner didn't look pleased, but he nodded. "Of course. I need to get these readings to Tony, anyway." He picked up the empty tray and pitchers. Sif followed him out the door without having to be asked.

When they were gone, Loki turned to Thor. "I am sorry," he said. "For worrying you. But I will not lie to you. I was angry that you seemed to have considered leaving me behind. Even though I know you would not, I was...distressed."

As he had expected, Thor's face crumpled. "Loki. I am sorry. I only wished to do what was best for you. To let you choose what you wanted."

"I know. And I am grateful. But please understand. I made my decision. I am resigned to it. Let us speak of this no more." Please.

"Very well. I will not ask again." Thor squeezed his arms tightly, then let him go. "Do you wish me to stay here with you? I know I have been away much of the day since we came here."

"No. I enjoy my peace and quiet," Loki said dryly, covering the truth with a jest. "But I am very bored here. Perhaps some books, to occupy my mind."

"I will see to it at once!" Thor declared, getting up. "I am foolish, for not having thought of it before." He hesitated, and looked down at Loki, his brows furrowed. "Are you truly well, Loki?" he asked, his voice quiet, and concerned. "I do not want to leave you again, if you are troubled. You need only ask."

Loki made himself smile. "I am well, now. Thank you. And I will be even better, the sooner we leave here."

\-----

To Loki's relief, the subject of his remaining behind was not broached again over the course of the next few days. Either Banner had reported to the others that his wish to go was sincere, or he and Stark were too pre-occupied with the new challenge of shaping their baubles to confine his shifting powers as well as his magic. In either case, he was more or less left alone again, this time with a Midgard reading device to amuse him.

Stark had given it to him the day following his request to Thor, saying, "I'm not giving you a pile of heavy shit to throw at me. If you can dismantle this and use it to escape, we don't deserve to have you as a prisoner."

Loki had, in fact, dismantled the first device to see how it worked, which was likely more diverting than the books contained within it would have been. He had also done it to annoy Stark. This had been less successful, since Stark had merely rolled his eyes and produced another, identical device. After that, Loki had settled to reading the materials on it, and working at the puzzles.

Banner and Stark came and went at their usual intervals, giving him different anklets to try and periodically asking him to attempt to change his shape around them. Thor visited more frequently, sometimes bringing his evening meals, and sometimes bringing games for them to play together afterwards.

Loki found this disconcerting. He knew that his status was somewhat in question while on Midgard, but he also couldn't be certain that such entertainments would not be part of his duties once they returned to Asgard. Thor had made it clear that he expected the usual routine tasks from him, such as helping him bathe and fetching his meals, and also quite clear that he expected sex, but there was a vast area in between that Loki was still unsure of. Courtesans were expected to converse and entertain, consorts to act as spouses. But where did that leave him? Low enough to carry the King's food from the buttery, certainly. But high enough to sit and talk with him after the evening meal? To play at draughts and cards?

He did not quite dare ask, not while he was certain that every word was overheard, but the day when he would have to return to Asgard and face those questions drew closer. Banner and Stark had pressed three different "prototypes" upon him in the last two days, each one garnering more pleased muttering than the last.

Finally, Loki woke one morning to the opening of his cell door, but instead of Sif with a tray of breakfast, it was Banner and Stark with a tray full of gold and crystal. Followed, he was pleased to note, by Thor, who had at least not forgotten that Loki would be hungry. As he ate, they explained to him what they were going to do.

"Obviously, we're not going to take off the arm bands until we've got the others on," Stark was telling him.

"Obviously," Loki murmured, forking up a mouthful of eggs and then smiling at him.

"But we're going to have to cut them off, so that's going to be tricky. We can do it a couple of different ways. One, we trust you to stay completely still while I'm holding a saw really close to your arm." Loki trusted that his own expression showed how he felt about that. "Two, we sedate you or restrain you, both of which are pretty fucking hard to do. Three--" Stark paused. "Yeah, no, there's no three. That's what we've got."

"Thor will brace my arm while you wield the saw," Loki said, and ate another forkful of eggs. "I _trust_ \--" And he showed his teeth to Stark. "--that this will be acceptable."

Stark bobbed his head in thought. "Yeah, okay, that works, too."

So, it was done. The new bands were smaller than the ones they had been using to test him, these designed to fit close around his limbs. Stark and Banner put them around his ankles first, then used a small tool to seal them closed. "Molecular seal," Stark said, though Loki hadn't asked. "Doesn't even leave a seam."

"How lovely."

The band around his throat was next, and he was thankful that it, at least, was not as close-fitted as the others. Even Thor could easily fit two of his fingers between Loki's neck and the band, and they had fashioned it of links rather than a solid circle. It was no worse than a low-born slave's collar, he told himself, should not even feel different than a torque worn for a feast or battle.

But it did.

They had to push the manacles up his arms to fit the new bracelets on his wrists, and the fit was tight. Loki could feel the metal edges biting into his forearms, and saw Stark eyeing them with disapproval. Still, Stark insisted on running more of his wretched tests before he would consent to removing the original manacles, and also had Loki attempt to shift his form.

"Looks good," he said to Banner, at last, then nodded to Thor. "Okay, Big Bro. You're on."

Removing the manacles was, in the end, something of an anti-climax. Thor held his arm clamped at hand and elbow, but Stark's hand on the cutting tool was deft and sure and Loki felt no desire to struggle. Stark explained as he worked that he'd had a long time working with the metal to come up with better ways to cut through it and that, of course, being a genius he had designed the perfect tool for the task. Indeed the small saw sliced easily through the metal, Loki's discomfort limited to the unpleasant sensation of the gels sprayed from the saw squishing between the manacles and his skin.

Then the first manacle was off, and Stark and Banner were pointing their scanners at him again while Loki mopped at the sticky fluid covering his arm.

"Huh." Banner squinted at his screen, tapped the keys and looked again. "Looks good, Tony. What do you think?"

"Yep. Field's at 15% above projections." Stark flapped a hand at Loki. "Do something. Try to change."

Loki sighed. "I grow weary of this," he said.

"Tough shit, snowflake. You aren't leaving here until we see you try."

"Very well." Loki lifted the arm they had just freed, and imagined himself as a stag. It was a form he had taken often in the past, easy and comfortable. So far, his attempts had failed completely to manifest.

"Holy crap."

Loki blinked. For a hand-width on either side of the bracelet, his skin was smooth and pink and Aesir-perfect, the wrist still snug within the circlet of metal. But his fingers had molded together into the sharp cloven hoof of a stag, and deep brown fur covered his arm to the elbow. "That was unexpected," he said.

"Uh, yeah. A bit." Stark came forward and lifted his hand--hoof. "But that's how it was supposed to work."

"And yet you appear surprised."

"Well, excuse me for being surprised that freaky-magic-powers obey the laws of physics after all," Stark snapped at him. He let go of Loki's arm and stepped back. "Okay. Let's get rid of the other one and see what happens."

What happened, in the end, was very little. The second manacle was removed, more tests were performed, and Loki's attempt to change into a cat resulted in a bizarrely misshapen creature with the ankles, wrists, and neck of an Aesir. Loki was actually able, with some effort, to work the necklace over his Aesir neck and then his cat head, but the other cuffs remained on, the field extended far enough that his Aesir bones were sufficient to keep them in place.

Stark and Banner did not seem overly discomfited at the loss of the necklace. "Field works better than we first thought," Stark said casually. "It will still work even without the fifth point. But," he added to Thor, "it's a good idea to keep it on."

Loki scowled at him. But in truth, he could not be too upset at the day's events. The removal of the two remaining manacles had been a relief he hadn't anticipated, like wearing armor for days on end until he'd forgotten what it felt like to walk around without the weight of it. He felt sharper, clearer, his body energized and his mind keen. The cuffs still damped his magic, but now it was more that it was behind a wall that he could not breach, and not drained out of him like his life's blood.

Also, he could shapeshift again. That was an ability he had many plans for.

\-----

To Loki's displeasure, Thor was persuaded to remain another day, so that his Avenger friends could see him off with a leaving feast. This would also, Loki was told, give Stark and Banner other opportunities to test the new bonds, and see how they functioned over a day's time. While Loki was not exactly eager to return to his life as Thor's minion and bed-slave, he would be glad to leave his stifling little cell and at least go back to a place that was familiar to him. Still, he could endure one more night.

Thor departed early in the evening, delivering Loki's meal an hour ahead the usual time so they would have time to talk. The gesture wasn't unappreciated, given the boredom that was Loki's constant companion, but it also meant that the hours until the next morning would be all the longer. After Thor had gone, Loki settled himself atop the bed with the reading device, and resumed the tale he had begun that morning.

When the lock on the door opened, Loki's first thought was to curse himself for a fool. He, of all people, should have realized that now was the perfect opportunity for ambush, when his brother and the other so-called heroes were known to be away. He had heard no sounds of battle, but the doors were thick and even Sif could have succumbed to the drugs that had been used to subdue him. Soundlessly, Loki slid off the bed and crouched behind it, holding the reading tablet palm-down in his hand, to hurl or slice as the occasion demanded.

"Loki."

Loki stiffened, and tightened his grip on his weapon. Fury himself. It lessened the chances of it being an outright assassination, but not by a great deal. Cautiously, he straightened up, keeping his hand by his side. Fury frowned at him.

"What the hell are you doing back there?"

"I presumed I was being attacked," Loki said, as if it should have been obvious. Which, to Fury, it should have been.

Fury regarded him for a long moment. "Glad you haven't lost that paranoid touch." He crossed the room's chair, and gestured to the bed. "Sit down. We need to have a talk."

Loki didn't move. "I believe I know what you wish to talk about," he told him. "And as I have already told Thor, and Banner, I have no desire to spend my life like this." He gestured to the cell around him. "The ability to not have to call myself slave means nothing to me if I am trapped in these walls. Tomorrow, I will return to Asgard with Thor. That is my decision."

"Fine. We'll skip that part, then." Fury sat down, and folded his arms. "I'm actually here to talk to you about what will happen if you find a way to slip those chains and come back here."

"Ah." Loki hoisted himself back onto the bed and swung around to sit facing Fury, the reading device now resting on his knees. Just in case. "I presume that you wish to inform me that, now that you have data on my magical abilities and the means to block them, you will be instructing Stark to create devices that will neutralize my powers and do great harm to me, personally."

"That was the idea, yeah. And, to tell you that the next time you show up, it won't be up to Thor, or you, whether or not you serve your time here. You cause trouble on Earth again, and I'll lock you in the deepest, darkest cell I've got."

"And you wonder why I decline your hospitality," Loki murmured.

"Hey, that's for the second offense. What I'm offering now is a different story."

"I'm sure. But you'll forgive me if I trust Thor's word over yours."

Fury was silent. "And if I gave you my word? That you wouldn't be hurt, or experimented on, or have anything done to you that you didn't agree to? That all we would do was incarcerate you?"

Loki heard himself break into laughter. He couldn't help it. "Do you understand nothing, Fury? Perhaps I could take your word. But you are mortal. A hundred years from now, you will be dead. Can I trust the word of the one who will come after you? And the one who will come after them? A thousand years from now, when I have been held here so long that I have gone mad, will SHIELD still be so humane, when no one living still remembers the bargain you made, and why?" Loki shook his head, letting his smile spread over his face. "No."

Fury swallowed. "Okay." He rose, and walked to the door. But when his hand was on the lock, he turned back, his mouth twisting, as if he had bitten into something sour. He spoke, sounding as if he were having to force the words out. "But one last thing. You ever change your mind, and you haven't done anything to make me change mine, then the offer stands. You say the word, and we'll get you out of Asgard." His mouth twisted again. "My word on it." Then Fury yanked the door open and went through, slamming it shut behind him.

Loki did not sleep that night. Instead, he lay awake, pondering on Fury's words. He was no more inclined to believe him than he had been before, but the man's persistence was fascinating. Loki had no doubt that he meant what he said, but he also had no doubt that, should Loki's comfort and well-being stand in the way of protecting Midgard, Fury would not hesitate to choose Midgard over being forsworn.

Still, he tucked Fury's promise in the back of his mind. Just in case.


	10. Chapter 10

Loki's second return to Asgard was not dissimilar to the first. They arrived in the evening, on the remains of the Rainbow Bridge, and once again the Warriors Three were there to greet their King and comrade. This time, however, Loki was sure to kneel at once, not wishing to test the boundaries of lenience Thor had granted him on Midgard. Or perhaps he wished to make a point. Either reason was sufficient.

The greetings faltered for a moment, Fandral and Volstagg turning toward him as if about to ask him what he thought he was doing. But they recovered themselves quickly, and Thor's welcome continued as if Loki were not even there.

As before, the Warriors had provided no mount for him, so Loki walked beside Thor's saddle. But he felt strong and sure now, the miles as nothing to his new-recovered body. Even the soft chime of the crystals at his wrists and ankles and throat could not entirely dim the sheer pleasure of being able to stride along easily on his own feet, clear-headed for the first time in weeks.

He followed Thor and the others into the palace, and almost immediately felt the burden of his servitude fall on his shoulders again. Midgard had been a reprieve, but it was now over. Hogun, Thor's proxy in his absence, had called for a welcome feast as soon he had learned of Thor's return, and Loki felt every muscle in his back tense as he realized what that meant for him.

Thor, naturally, was delighted. "Well done, Hogun!" he said, thumping his friend on the shoulder, and then giving embraces to Volstagg and Fandral as well. "It has been too long since I sat down to a meal worthy of the name! The delights of Midgard are many, but they cannot hold a feast that compares to those of the halls of Asgard."

"It only waits for your presence to make it complete," Hogun said, the barest of smiles betraying his pleasure at Thor's happiness. "When you and the Lady Sif have made ready from your journey, all will be waiting."

"You need not encourage me any further," Sif said, and turned to Thor, putting her fist to her shoulder. "With your leave, my King."

"Gladly, Lady Sif. You have earned a place of honor at my table." Thor grinned at her, then gestured to Loki. "Come. Let us prepare ourselves."

Loki followed Thor back to his rooms, and helped him get ready. It was the first time Loki had been called upon to play valet, but it was it not difficult. As with so many other things, he had aided Thor with his armor and buckles and boots many times before in battle. It was, therefore, not such a great trial to divest him of his travel gear and then help him into the gleaming armor reserved for feasts and battle.

Or it would not have been, had Thor not stopped him once Loki had put his tunic away, taking up his hands and pulling them close to his bared chest. "Are you well enough for this?" he asked. "You did not seem tired from the journey, but I feel I must ask."

Loki was sorely tempted to take up the excuse, say he was still feeling sick and weary, but even as he considered the lie he discarded it. As with everything else, it was best to get it over with, display himself for the court once and for all. A welcome celebration was as good a time as any, when everyone would be merry and prone to generosity of feeling. Besides, if he were to beg illness as an excuse, Thor might feel it necessary to consult with his Midgard friends again. That was something to be avoided at all costs.

So, Loki only smiled at him, and shook his head. "You are kind to ask, Thor. But I am quite well."

Thor smiled in return. "Good." Then he unexpectedly leaned in and kissed him.

Loki stopped himself from flinching, barely, but could not suppress the startled jerk of his hands in Thor's. He covered his reflex to pull away by spreading his fingers over the smooth skin of Thor's chest, but it was a long moment before he could make himself return the kiss.

When Thor drew back, he was flushed, his breath coming deep and fast. "It has been too long," he said, his voice husky with want. "I refrained on Midgard, because I knew there was no privacy in your cell. But I have missed you greatly, Loki." His hand came up to curve around Loki's face. "I look forward to sharing my bed with you again tonight."

"Then you had best get on with getting dressed," Loki told him. Anything to make Thor step back, and stop touching him. "The sooner you arrive at your feast, the sooner you can leave it."

"You are always wise." Thor kissed him again, thankfully just a short peck on his lips, and let him go.

When Thor was dressed, Loki changed into the best of the tunics and breeches that had been left for him, a new set that had been dyed black with thin silver braid around the hem of the tunic. The dark fabric made a strange contrast to the bright jeweled bands around his wrists and ankles, and especially set off the one around his throat. He scowled into the mirror as he washed up, disliking the pretty flash of the crystals at his neck and arms. It was tempting to try to smash them against the marble, see if the delicate gems were as fragile as they seemed, but he knew from experience that the tesseract crystals were much harder than marble or bone, and that the gamma crystals were unlikely to be any weaker.

But the gems reminded him of the powers that had been returned, and Loki cast a quick glance over his shoulder, to satisfy himself that Thor was still occupied in the bedchamber. With a deep breath, he returned to the mirror and concentrated, hardly daring to hope.

His form rippled in the glass, the familiar liquid sensation of the shift flowing out from his belly to his fingers and toes. Within moments, his own face stared back at him again, but with the softer jaw and higher planes of his favored female shape. His hair remained cropped--he would have to investigate that--and his neck was thicker where the necklace blocked his powers. But his exploring hands ran over familiar swell of breasts and hips, to the firm mound between his legs that had replaced his cock. Another shift, and he was in another body, nearly identical to his male Aesir form, but with that slim opening remaining behind just his balls.

Loki touched himself there, sliding his hand along the hidden folds to push the tip of his finger inside, teasing and testing. He had sorely wished for this form, or at least this part of it, the first time Thor had taken him. He would still have to prepare himself with oil--this part of him would not feel any more roused by Thor's attentions than his cock had been--but this opening would at least stretch more easily to accommodate Thor inside him. It was also Loki's experience that certain men found his ability to alter his sex unbearably arousing. With any luck, Thor would be such a man and could be sated all the more quickly. He would have to wait for tonight, and see what he could manage.

For now, there was merely the whole of the Aesir court to face.

\-----

Loki left Thor's rooms well ahead of the king himself, knowing from his own days as a page that he would be expected to make sure that all was in readiness at the High Table before Thor arrived, and to have ample wine and mead at hand for the first round of toasts. It was surprising, really, how well being a prince prepared one for life as a slave.

As he had hoped, many of the court were already seated in the Great Hall, and he only encountered other servants and slaves on his way there, most of them too busy with their own errands to pay him any mind. He saw one or two curious second glances at the jewelry he wore, but most of those expressions faded into understanding once they looked close enough to see his face. Loki wasn't sure if they guessed the truth, that these baubles were a new way of binding his magic, or if they merely did not question Thor's desire to decorate his bed-slave. In either case, no-one seemed inclined to stop him and ask.

Loki's first stop was at the pantry behind the feast hall, where the kitchen servants brought up new dishes for those serving at the feast to carry out to the waiting Aesir. Most of the food was already in the hall, but there was a table set aside for those dishes reserved for the High Table, and the King. Loki picked up a tray from the stack by the wall, and began putting what he knew were several of Thor's favorites on it, tasting each one as he added it to the array.

He was steeling himself to eat one of the platter of mushrooms stuffed with sweetened cheese--a delicacy which Thor particularly favored and which Loki had always found rather foul--when the bite was struck from his hand. It would have been followed by a blow to Loki's face, but he turned and flung up his own arm by reflex, blocking the hand before it landed. He remembered himself after that, letting his hands drop to his sides, but by then Kalfr--for it was indeed he--was in full cry.

"How dare you!" the master was shouting. "Eating the food from the King's own plate, as if your filthy hands were fit to touch it!"

This was certainly an encounter he'd not expected to have so soon. Loki had no intention of giving Kalfr any excuse to have him beaten again, but neither did he have any intention of groveling before him. Fortunately, this was not a difficult situation to explain. He had to clamp his jaw tight on a sneer as he bowed, but when Loki straightened up again he knew his expression was perfectly blank and composed.

"I beg your pardon, master. But you realize that it is my duty to taste my master's food," Loki told Kalfr, mindful to keep his gaze low, fixing instead on a dollop of sauce that had fallen on Kalfr's tunic. "Surely you would not assign anyone more valuable than a slave to the task?"

It was deeply satisfying to peer up under his lashes to watch the emotions, and consternation, play across Kalfr's face. "The King has never employed a food taster," Kalfr finally retorted.

"I was not aware," Loki said, not sure this time if he was successful in concealing his surprise, and determining that he would have words with Thor about that. Later. "But in my time, the King's personal slave has always tasted his food. That--" Loki let a tiny smile spread across his face. "--is how it is done."

He could see from Kalfr's face that the barb had not fully hit, that the buttery master did not remember his own words to Loki those weeks ago. But it had stung. Kalfr narrowed his eyes. "The King has always trusted those who prepare his food."

"And that trust is well-earned," Loki replied. "But I am not the King, merely his slave, and it is not my place to question the traditions of my service." He bowed to Kalfr again. "With your permission, the King will be arriving soon. I do not wish to cast doubt on the worth of your office by being late to the table with his food."

Kalfr cuffed him across the face, which was no more or less than Loki expected. It wasn't that hard a blow, was clearly meant more to humiliate him than leave any lasting mark, but Loki contrived to angle his face so that his lip split on his own teeth. He smiled at Kalfr's hastily concealed dismay as he used the hem of his tunic to blot at the blood. "Good evening to you, Master Kalfr," he said, and turned to finish preparing Thor's tray.

His exchange with Kalfr had, in fact, made him late, so Loki tested his long-forgotten skill of hoisting a laden tray in one hand while carrying four pitchers of spirits in the other. He was pleased to discover that the latter was rather easier than it had been when he was a youth, his larger hands now more suited to the task. And if the tray concealed the greater part of his face as he entered the hall, that was all the better.

Of the many things that Loki had considered during the long hours in his Midgard cell, one of them had been how he should present himself when it came time to serve Thor at the High Table. He would be under the watchful gaze of the entire court, hostile minds prepared to catalog every lapse, every flaw. Almost any mein he assumed would be presumed to be a trick of some sort, one that could be twisted somehow to his advantage. For a time, flush with his renewed health, he had been sorely tempted to play to that, become the trickster, the jester, and let loose his sharp wit to show that he was still Loki Silvertongue.

But he had soon realized that doing so would be foolish. He was being punished, after all, and it was in his own best interests to appear to be miserable. They would expect him to chafe at his lowly status, to seethe and scowl at his wounded pride. While he would not give them so much as that, in the scant hours before his service had been cut short by Kalfr's beating, Loki had tested the worth of displaying servility and humility. He found it suited his purposes very well.

As it happened, the tray was slim concealment, at best, as he entered the hall. The court knew he would be there, and when to expect him, and even the steady stream of other slaves to and from the High Table would not disguise his height or the--relative--quality of the clothing he wore. Loki was therefore prepared for the little tricks sent his way, the benches pushed suddenly backward, the flagons sloshed in his path. These had also been part of his service as a youth, though with rather less malice intended. The blatant leg thrust between his in an effort to trip him, that was something no-one would have dared with a young prince.

But Loki was pleased to disappoint the would-be obstacle. Freed from the horrible weakness of the old chains, the tray and pitchers were as nothing in his hands, and he skipped from the attempt to fell him with one deliberately awkward hop. He was careful to turn to offer a bow to the lord in question afterward, well aware who could easily be blamed for the near-miss. There was no hope of avoiding notice, after all. He might as well create the attention on his own terms. "My apologies, Lord Radi," he said.

Radi's round face, already flushed with drink, grew even redder as he realized that every face in the hall was now turning to look at him, and not for the reason he'd intended. "Clumsy fool," he muttered, after a pause. He turned his back on Loki, and Loki went on his way.

The hall had grown rather quieter after that exchange, and Loki could feel the gazes of the other Aesir on him as he crossed behind the High Table. He had to clamp his jaw to keep his face neutral, and fixed his own gaze on the spot in front of Thor's seat in order to avoid glaring around at the entire hall and shouting at them to stop gawking. Surely they had better things to do than to gape at one mere Prince-turned-slave?

The High Table, thankfully, was nearly empty. The Warriors Three and Sif occupied the seats to the left and right of Thor, and various advisors and functionaries and friends filled the remaining places. They would arrive soon, so as to be present before the King made his entrance, but most of them would be gathered now in small groups, either having last-minute private discussions on court business that would not wait until after the feast, or simply sharing a cup or a plate with friends before the noise and pomp.

Nearly all of them had been Loki's friends, too, at one time, and he had shared those gatherings more than once. He was doing his best to try not to recall that.

He laid out the dishes in front of Thor's chair, and stowed a pitcher each of wine and mead beneath the table for later. He left Thor's mead-cup empty, to be filled first by whoever the King chose to give that honor, but he placed a large wine-bowl to hand to carry out later, for the King and his companions to wet their throats before the feast.

"Loki."

Loki had been keeping his head down, concentrating on his duties so he wouldn't have to pay attention to the looks from the floor of the hall. His concentration had apparently made him miss at least one arrival, for the voice that called his name was one he recognized, from someone he would have noted had she been there before. He raised his head to look, and saw the Lady Sigyn, the royal herbalist, taking her seat several chairs down from Thor's left. She raised her goblet when he looked her way, and said, "Some wine."

"Of course, my lady," Loki said, after a pause, and stepped down to pick up one of the several pitchers already set out. His hand was steady as he filled her cup, but his stomach was cold. Sigyn was part of the royal household now, with her own duties and titles, but before that she had been one of the many children of the lower nobility who came and went from the palace. Only she had come rather more often, and had frequently been Loki's companion in his studies as he learned from the scholars and healers and sorcerers. He had numbered her among his close friends. Yet now she slipped very easily into the role of master over him. But then she spoke again, her voice pitched low to be unheard under the noise of the crowd.

"I am pleased to see you well again," Sigyn murmured, fussing with her hair so that the motion of her lips would not be easily seen from the lower tables. "I tended you after Kalfr's beating," she explained, in answer to the questioning look Loki dared to send her. "I protested that the King took you from the healing hall too soon, so I am happy you've recovered."

That surprised him again. Sigyn often worked in the healing halls, where slave and noble alike were entitled to be cared for, but it would be almost unheard of for someone of her status to be called to personally attend to a slave. Either she had done it as a favor to Thor, or as a favor to her old friendship with Loki. Either way, Loki found himself warmed by her concern. "I am quite well now, my lady," Loki said to her, bowing as he handed her the cup.

"Good." She gave him a small smile, then her hands, which had never in her life so much as spilled a drop of medicine, fumbled the cup, sending it tumbling to the floor. "Oh!"

"Please, forgive my clumsiness," Loki said dryly, and bent to mop at the spill, wondering what she thought she was doing. As soon as he bent down below the table, her hand had darted out, neat as a thief's, and a slim packet slipped into the neck of his tunic, sliding down inside the cloth to rest at his belt. In front of the whole court, by all the worlds. He quickly tucked the edge of the parcel into his belt, to make sure it stayed put, then resumed cleaning up the spill. Loki then retrieved Sigyn's fallen cup, stole a replacement from the next seat down, and re-filled it with more wine. "Your wine, my lady," he said.

"Thank you, Loki," she answered. Then she added, softly, with a gesture to his split lip, "Take care."

By the time Loki returned to Thor's place, the High Table was filling up. To avoid any more calls for his services, Loki took the wine bowl and a full ewer and made his way to the royal entrance to wait for Thor. As he expected, he did not have to wait long. Thor fell upon the wine with an exuberant cry, and saw that the bowl was shared among all his friends before he finished off the dregs himself.

"Thank you, Loki," he said. Thor frowned, though, as he handed the empty bowl back to Loki, his gaze narrowing as he focused on Loki's mouth, and Loki suppressed a smile. Kalfr was going to regret that, whether he knew it or not. But Thor went on, making no other sign that he'd noticed. "There's no better way to begin a feast than with a draught of cool wine."

"Or to end it, or drink through it," Fandral observed, watching Volstagg guzzle a second bowl with a slightly alarmed expression.

"This is true!" Thor said, and waved his arm. "So let us delay not a moment longer. Lady Sif." He gestured next to him, and Sif stepped up to walk beside him in the place of honor, a pleased smile on her face. The others fell in behind, and Loki trailed last of all.

The first round of toasts kept Loki busy. Thor had granted Sif the favor of pouring the first cups, but after that Loki was occupied re-filling Thor's goblets and occasionally the Lady Sif's, when the servants responsible for her and Fandral were called elsewhere. When the eating began in earnest, Loki went off to the buttery next to the feast-hall pantry for more drink, taking the two emptied pitchers with him and picking up another two on his way to the butts of wine and mead and ale. Thor alone could drink his way through four pitchers of mead in a single feast without much ill effect, and if Loki was to attend to Sif and the Warriors Three as well, he would need to be prepared.

There was something of a rush in the pantry and the buttery, the other slaves and servants taking the same opportunity as Loki to fetch more food and drinks for their own tables. Loki was not particularly eager to return to the hall, and the searching gaze of the court, so he allowed two of the slaves from the lower tables to sidle ahead of him in the line for the butts. Not only would it delay his own journey, he was also resolved to continue his efforts to make acquaintances among the other servants. In this, he was at least partly successful. One of the slaves scowled suspiciously at him, but the other gave him a curt nod, shifting his full tray of empty pitchers to his other hip.

"Thank you," he said. "They'll be expecting us back, and it's a fair step down to the bottom of the hall."

"As if _he'd_ know where the bottom of the hall is," his companion said to him, frowning again at Loki. "And you're not to talk to him, remember?"

Loki raised a brow. "I see my reputation has preceded me. How shocking." He dipped his head to her. "As it happens, I know very well where the bottom of the hall is, Heidr."

She stiffened, clearly startled--and unhappy--that he knew her name. "I don't recall that I was ever made known to you," she said after a moment, clearly torn between her desire not to speak to him and her curiosity.

"You would not," Loki said. "But I have heard your name called for a time or two, while I sat at the bottom of the hall among the players and singers to hear their tales."

"And did you hear mine?" the young man asked, grinning.

"Alas, I did not."

"Ah, well. I'm Dyri."

Loki nodded to him. "Loki," he said. "Though I imagine that courtesy is unneeded."

Dyri snorted. "We were warned against you, in the kitchen. And also told to look for you." He grinned at Loki again, showing his stained and crooked teeth, several missing from the left side of his mouth. Loki guessed that he had lost them from a hard blow to his jaw, and indeed now that he looked he could see the faint scars around Dyri's mouth where his other teeth had wounded him. But the damage didn't seem to have repressed his spirit much, and Loki found himself quirking a small smile in return.

"Allow me to speculate. Kalfr wishes you to avoid me. Am I correct?"

"You are. But Ragnve seems to like you. She said you had a head on your shoulders, and not your nose in the air."

"Hm. That sounds like high praise."

"It is." Dyri lowered his voice. "And everyone knows Kalfr has his hand in the honey-jar, and that he'll use any excuse to whip the new slaves. Make them think twice about crossing him." He looked at Heidr. "No-one really believes you were fool enough to lose a tally-piece your first day."

Heidr's flush told Loki that she had, in fact, believed it, but the tight line of her jaw seemed to be easing. "And Kalfr will have _you_ whipped if you keep with that talk, Dyri," was all she said, though. "Mind your tongue."

"So who will be heeded?" Loki asked curiously. "Kalfr or Ragnve?"

"That depends," Dyri said. "Most people want to stay on the good side of Ragnve, but it's Kalfr they're afraid of."

"You don't appear to be."

Dyri shrugged. "Kalfr's not here," he said blithely. "And neither is anyone who's going to carry tales to him." He glanced pointedly at Heidr, who rolled her eyes.

"You trust too much," she said, looking around them. "And you shouldn't trust him." She looked up at Loki. "Your smile and your silver tongue won't get you far here, Loki Liesmith."

"Nor will making enemies of my new fellows," Loki said to her. "I am not a fool, Heidr. Most of the nobles in that hall would have liked to see me killed or banished. I must live here now. I would rather live among friends."

She sniffed, and turned away. "We shall have to see about that."

Their turn at the butts came next, and Loki helped Heidr and Dyri with their trays and pitchers as they filled them with ale. Mead and wine were supposed to be reserved for the higher tables, but Dyri threw him a wink as he slid a pitcher brimming with reddish liquid in among the vessels of lighter brown.

"Five more coins for my freedom-price," he said cheerfully, then his expression sobered as he all-too-clearly realized that there would be no such bargain for Loki. But he didn't apologize, which would have been even worse. Instead, he merely hefted the full tray into his arms, and made sure the Heidr had her own readied. "Thank you, Loki," he said. "Good luck."

"Good luck to you as well." And Loki was surprised to find that he meant it.

His own few pitchers took little time to fill. In a short time, he was headed back to the High Table, the tray balanced easily on his shoulder. But Loki did not go in right away. He paused instead just inside the curtain that separated him from the hall, looking out through the gap at the tables beyond and steeling himself for what came next.

His duties, menial as they were, had at least kept him preoccupied during the first part of the feast. But now he would have little to do, and would be expected instead to wait in attendance on Thor. He could see the small mat laid out next to Thor's seat, where he would kneel while awaiting his master's commands.

But he had already done this. He had knelt for the Vanir, and for his old friends. He had even knelt before this court before, chained and naked. This was only another display, another proof of his subjugation. It would be a mere novelty this time, a curiosity the next, and then nothing of note at all.

Gripping the tray tight, he pushed the curtain aside and stepped out. As he'd thought, there were empty cups to be filled, and dishes to be fetched from the far ends of the table. But once that was done, Loki did not allow himself the luxury of another delay. He quietly settled himself on his knees on the woven mat, steeling himself for the hours of boredom that would follow. There would be no talk of politics or palace gossip to ease the tedium of the endless toasts and boasting, no coaxing of secrets or information to make the time spent worthwhile. No flirting. Or flyting. Loki began to wonder if anyone would notice if he dozed off. They would, he realized, bitterly, only when their cups ran empty or their plates needed filling. Until then, he would be nothing.

But even that was preferable to what was going to come after the feast.

\-----

ETA September 25, 2012: A week ago, I fell on our deathtrap stairs (which I do a couple of times a year, cf "deathtrap stairs") and skillfully managed to sprain a muscle in my thigh, to the degree that I've been in some really intense pain. The last time I was in this kind of pain was when I tore a ligament in my wrist and ended up having surgery. I was really afraid that I'd done something similar to my leg, but after some prodding and flexing the nurse said it was just the muscle. She's put me on some very strong anti-inflammatories, and also some muscle relaxants.

Up until now, though, the pain has really put the kibosh on my writing. This is a hectic time of the year anyway, what with all the high holidays (although here I am skipping Yom Kippur services because it hurts too much to go), and every time I've tried to do any writing I haven't been able to concentrate. But, the meds seem to be helping, so hopefully I'll be able to get back to writing without just staring at the screen and thinking about how much my leg hurts.

Also, about the holidays. In addition to the prep for the remaining holidays (though I seem to have cleverly gotten myself out of sukkah-building this year), my daughter is going to be out of school for at least two days a week until Simchat Torah, which is October 9. I expect to get a chapter out within the week, but I don't think I'll get another one done until after the holidays are over.

Please be assured that I haven't abandoned "Let Thy Sword Bring Us Home." I'm still writing, it's just that for the last week "writing" has meant trying to think about sex and angst while a chorus of "Ow my leg hurts ow my leg hurts ow my leg hurts," went on in my head. Short of giving Loki a leg injury so I could channel my pain appropriately, I was kind of stuck. Now, though, I'm hoping to get back to it. :)

Take care, everyone!

**Author's Note:**

> Notes/Spoilers:
> 
> I feel that some of the warnings would benefit from elaboration. If you have read the full prompt, then nothing here is a spoiler. If not, there are spoilers below.
> 
> About the pairing (Major Spoilers)--While there is a sexual relationship between Thor and Loki, it is based on coercion. They do not end up as a couple. I debated whether or not to even code them as a pairing, but I decided that it was more misleading to imply in the headers that there was _no_ sexual relationship, than to imply that it was a Loki/Thor romance.
> 
> Non-con--The non-con in this story is one of forced choice. The sex is all non-consensual, but I wanted to be clear that the graphic violence is a separate warning from the sex.
> 
> Violence--The most disturbing violence is either implied or takes place off-screen. Nevertheless, the story deals with the violent death of an infant. There are also scenes of physical punishment, specifically beating and flogging.
> 
> Infanticide--This takes place off-screen, but it is a violent murder.
> 
> Abortion--No actual abortion takes place in the story, but it is discussed in theory at several points.
> 
> If you feel that any of the warnings are unclear or inadequate, please let me know. I also realize that this story deals with a number of difficult topics, including rape, pregnancy issues, and slavery. If you have any concerns about the way I've dealt with a topic, you can comment here or e-mail me privately at my gmail.com account: k3s1k1s1k1


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